Somewhere in the dark
by twinlady
Summary: End of ALW movie. Erik is once again alone... or is he? Can an old friend lead him from the darkness? Bad summary? Yes. Good story? You tell me. R&R. Will be EOW eventually. Don't like, don't read. Rating gone up for implied things in future chaps
1. Lost in the Dark

Well, I finally got it done! Yay, me! This is a little fic that just popped into my head one day. At first I was going to do it as a one shot (like all my others:( ). But now I'm thinking of making it a whole story depending on the reactions to it. So please review, it makes me happy and in a writey mood. And no flames, they singe poor Erik's hair! On that note…

Disclaimer: None of this is mine! bursts into uncontrollable tears at the unfairness of the universe But I will be bringing in a character of my own later. This is not an E/Giry or an E/Meg. If you'd like an E/M try Snowfox2's – 'The voice that calls to him' it's good

Now, on with the tale, enjoy!

* * *

He wasn't lost. He knew that he wasn't lost. He couldn't be lost... 

The Phantom of the Opera had stepped through the shattered mirror into the passage, a broken creature of darkness with nowhere to go. From there he had simply let his feet guide him down the myriad tunnels of his home, not caring where he ended up and therefore not paying attention. These black hallways were made to be confusing, a way to lose your enemies. Much like the Minotaur's maze that so many prisoners of King Minos entered, never to return… He loved that story. Until the end when that infernal Prince ruined it for everyone!

He cried out in desperate anger and smashed his fist into the rock walls repeatedly, like a child having a tantrum. Blood began to seep down his fingers. It felt warm. Odd that, he mused bitterly, when his skin was always so cold. Perhaps it _was_ just his environment, his lair that did it to him. After all, not much heat got down to the lower levels of the Opera House. His beautiful home, his inspiration, his downfall... He let out yet another body wracking sob, starting to weep once more. A strong but tender voice addressing him made the Ghost jump.

"All these years and you're still just a lost little boy crying in the dark."

Erik gasped. It couldn't be.

"Giry? Is that you?"

He reached out into the darkness, groping around blindly. There was a sudden piercing brightness as the Ballet Mistress lit a match. He covered his eyes for a moment, the light being painful to his delicate pupils.

"Oh, Erik... You have gotten yourself into terrible trouble this time. Killing those men, Piangi and Buquet…"

He looked at the elder woman, the brokenness of his heart blazing in his eyes. He tried to steady himself with a deep breath. It didn't work.

"Piangi, perhaps, yes. But I didn't kill Buquet."

"Oh really?"

She looked sceptical, an 'I'm unimpressed' look. But then, she always had that look with him.

"I was only trying to scare him. He was always too nosey... His heart was weaker then I expected," the Phantom mumbled, trying to excuse his actions.

Her expression slowly changed from one of harsh sternness to mercy. After all, it was she who had nurtured this boy, raised him and taught him. Surely his mistakes were also hers in part. Or at least so _she_ believed, and that was enough for Madame Giry. She quickly put the dieing match to a torch on the wall, Erik still regarding her in wonderment.

Giry reached out to touch his cheek but he ducked back, now desperately avoiding the human contact he'd previously yearned for. Most people would have taken the hint. But Antoinette Giry was not most people. She was a mother, teacher, widow and friend. Besides all that, she knew _him_. She knew well that sometimes when someone whispers 'no', they are really trying to scream 'yes'. So she gently took his bloodied hand in hers and reached out again. Much as he pulled back this time he couldn't get away.

"Please don't Madame," he begged to no avail. She touched his face.

Giry gently wiped away his tears with her thumb, only to elicit more. It was all she could do then to stop her own poring out. In that moment she realised what she must do. She knew what she should have done a long time ago.

Not letting go of his hand, she took the torch from its sconce.

"Come, we must go quickly."

With a reassuring squeeze and a gentle tug of encouragement they set off on a new journey. The Phantom, once again, let his guardian lead him to safety.

* * *

Well, what do you think? You can tell me by pressing the little button in the corner! I've tried to be different to other stories but it can be tricky. 


	2. Sweet release

My fondest greetings to you all...

I am so happy! This is my first second chapter ever! Mask shaped cookies for all! I certainly hope you like this chapter. As always, read and review please :) I simply love your little encouraging notes.

Thanks muchly to my Beta reader! You're awesome!

"Phantom of the Opera" etc. isn't mine, DUH! I'm not that good a writer. I just borrow it.

Also, I can't remember if I added this thought to the first chapter. My Giry is called 'Antoinette' only because I've seen it used in other fics (couldn't tell you which off the top of my head) and I loved it (Mostly because it's _my_ middle name hehe) So it's not really my original idea.

On with the story! Warnings of Angst though...

* * *

Madame Giry led them through many twists and turns, retracing her steps very carefully, until they reached a small side exit that lead out of the Opera House and into a badly lit street. Checking carefully there was no one there, they ran out into the night, hiding in the shadows and making their way to a destination only Antoinette knew of. They continued to run further and further. The Phantom may have certainly made an art of sneaking around unnoticed, but the lady with him had also picked up a few tricks in her lifetime. Never were they seen during the escape.

Through the many dark back alleys of Paris they manoeuvred, hiding in the places others would fear to go. And perhaps Giry would have feared once herself, were she not in the company of such a man as Erik. You couldn't fear the dark when you were around him. After all, he _was_ the thing that went bump in the night!

They finally stopped in an old run down part of Paris. Most of the buildings there had been abandoned since the Franco-Prussian War. She soon found just what they needed; an old workhouse that was boarded up and long forgotten by all. Giry pulled open a broken door and they both stepped inside. Once satisfied at the safety of the place, she took the Phantom's face in her hands, gaining his full attention. She spoke very seriously,

"Listen to me. I need you to stay here. _Don't move until I get back_. I'm going to organise to take us to the country. My late husband's family had a small estate there. It's mine now and is well away from society. It's not much but it's safe and quiet. Plus, with the Opera House mostly gone now, no one will think twice of my leaving for a while. I have to go collect my things, explain to the managers and say my goodbyes... I know it is hard for you to trust me, and that is fair. But I give you my word; I _will _take care of us. All of us... My Meg... I don't know what I will tell her. Perhaps she can stay here with friends? Oh, I'll work it out later. But please just... Stay here."

She paused. Erik looked at her with lost eyes. All he could do was nod.

"Alright then." She patted his left cheek affectionately and straightened herself.

"Can I fetch anything for you? Your savings, clothes... anything?"

He shrugged.

"My money is in a box under the organ if it helps."

"Very well. I will be a quick as possible."

She turned and left hastily. Antoinette checked around the building for any signs of people nearby and finding none, started back to the Opera House, hoping it still stood. Meanwhile, inside, Erik looked around himself uncaringly before collapsing in an exhausted heap on the floor.

…

When Erik regained consciousness he once again surveyed his surroundings. Pushing himself up off the floor he found a box nearby that would do nicely as a seat. Propped up on the wooden crate now, with nothing to do but wait, he was allowed some time to reflect.

His Christine was gone. She wasn't coming back. And what did he have left? Nothing! Even his own home was lost to him now. His music, his love, his pathetic semblance of a life... Everything gone.

Bitterness, anger, hurt, sorrow... So much emotion filled him then and yet he felt empty. The desolation engulfed him completely. He just wanted it all to end. Once and for all be over! And just as this thought entered his head, the early morning sun shone through a high window and reflected off a broken piece of glass. He picked it up. What a convenient little gift. Be it from the Lord or the Devil, he didn't care anymore, it would do for his purpose.

Gripping the glass tightly Erik resolved himself to his fate; a lonely end to a lonely life. But... just as he was about to put the makeshift weapon to his wrist, an image, a face flashed into his mind, freezing him. Yet, it was not Christine who invaded his thoughts now. No, it was little Antoinette, as she was once long ago. He saw her, the girl who helped him so often with no reward or payment, and many times not even a 'thank you'. Then he remembered the woman who even now risked herself to save him, again, from his own folly.

_Why? _He wondered. Why would she do all this? Once it had been pity. But Madame Giry had stopped pitying him a long time ago. So what now was her motivation? He could think of nothing that would inspire him to do the same were he in her place. And yet she did it, with no apparent hesitation. And now here he was, weapon of death in his hand, about to joyously take his own life. What kind of gratitude was that! A new emotion filled the Phantom. A deep shame at how he had always treated her. His Antoinette.

He went to throw the glass away, far away from himself, but he couldn't bring himself to do that either. He was torn inside. His heart had been crushed. He was broken and pathetic and he needed some release from the pain. Just a little sweet release...

Oh, it had been years!

* * *

To my wonderful reviewers Adriaane, Affliction, MmeGiry and possumgurl... (Especially possum who's taken the time to review three of my fics!) Thank you! You brighten my day. 


	3. Meagre Possesions

New chapter! Warning for angst and self-harm. Disclaimer, it ain't mine! If you want more disclaimer you can find it in earlier chaps : )

Now some of you have asked… This won't be an E/G (Cowers before the great Beta MmeGiry and cries, "Don't kill me!") Nor will it be E/C because I want her to be happily married to Raoul in this (It adds the angstyness needed). I am definitely bringing in a new character who is a woman and who may be a little cliché I admit but she's important to the story! If you want to stop reading now I'll understand but _please_ no flames.

A brief thanks to my reviewers…

Thanks!

Told you it would be brief : )

Also big thanks to my Beta MmeGiry, who's awesome and even puts up with my ranting on MSN. What a legend!

Okay, on with the story…

* * *

Back at the Opera House...

"You will be able to reach me at this address."

Madame Giry handed Messieurs Andre and Firmin a small card with the location of her family home quickly scrawled on it. They smiled as best they could under the circumstances, tucked the card into an inner breast pocket of a jacket, and briskly went about other business. She felt so terrible for them. All their money was invested in the Opera and now...

Antoinette found her way through charred halls, and despairing employees, to her old rooms. Thankfully they remained untouched by the disastrous fire. Locking her door tightly behind her, she ran straight to the little trap door in her floor that provided access to the tunnels. Before she lifted the carefully concealed latch Giry snatched up an old carpetbag that sat nearby.

Climbing down the ladder and rushing through the passages she soon came upon _his_ old lair, finding it deserted. The destruction was not as bad as she had imagined but it still devastated her. She was amazed that, despite the mob having rummaged here and there, they'd left his home relatively intact. They may have still feared him and decided to leave well enough alone, Antoinette suspected. After all, you could never tell what was booby-trapped and what wasn't!

Madame Giry opened the large bag and began systematically going from room to room, packing the essentials. It was hard for her to decide what to take; after all he may not want to be reminded of his life here. He may wish for a fresh start. Or not. Knowing Erik he'd be happy to brood about it forever. Well, that was his choice, not hers. But he would have to face a normal life sooner or later.

Giry went lastly to the bedroom. It had been a long time since she was there last, but not much had changed. And there was not much in there anyway. His sketchpad sat just above the swan bed. It was half filled with drawings, some of the building, some technical designs and some simple life drawings of the people who made up the Opera Populaire. These included a very childish one of a Medusa version of Carlotta with ridiculously violent things happenings to her. It caused Antoinette to laugh despite herself. There were also sketches of Christine. 'I'll wait to give this to him;' Giry thought, 'let him have his grieving time.'

Going through all his meagre possessions brought tears to Antoinette's eyes. She had found and packed a few important and a few sentimental things; his clothes with his cape and hat, his music, his money (once again thankful it was not found), his favourite books. And a precious memento of childhood she'd thought long lost. All these things she discovered and took. But that which she tried most to find eluded her.

Madame Giry desperately sought his music box. Surely he would want it, but it could not be found. Perhaps it was stolen, along with his mask. Although _that_ item she did not regret losing.

Antoinette tried so hard as a young girl to convince him he didn't need to hide his face anymore. That he would be safe and unseen down there in the cellars. But it was no use. From the moment he first put on his favourite white half mask, the one he fashioned himself to fit perfectly, he would never take it off. He even slept with it on back then! One night she had found him thus and had gently snuck it off in frustration. When he awoke he was furious. He screamed at her to get out, saying she didn't really care about him and only truly wanted to 'gawk at the monster like everyone else'. She'd run out, crying. That was the last time Antoinette had been to his home until now.

She always hated that mask. Perhaps now, without it, he might find a little peace in himself.

Giry returned to her rooms and called for one of the stagehands. A boy in his late teens ran up. She knew him. He had a sweet infatuation with her Meg.

"Francis, I need a carriage that will take me to the country. Can you organise it for me?"

"Are you leaving Madame?" He asked sadly.

"I am. But just for a while... Let them know I will pay whatever price is fair for the hire of the carriage and driver. I _must _leave tonight though."

"Yes Madame."

The young man ran off.

Antoinette went back into her quarters and sat on her favourite armchair for possibly the last time. She didn't want to think that it was but in all probability she would never return to her Opera home, however much she wished to.

With a terrible sadness in her heart the old dancer packed up her belongings. It didn't take as long as she had thought, and indeed hoped, it would. Soon everything was in boxes and Giry was ready to go. Two old men, who weren't busy cleaning up the fire damage, helped her move it all out to the side entrance. All she had to do now was sit and wait for the carriage.

An all too quick hour later her transport arrived and Francis hopped out. It was a run down old Brougham.

"I'm sorry Madame. It's all I could get at such short notice. The carriage isn't very comfortable and," he lowered his voice, "the driver's old with bad vision but it will get you there."

"Thank you so much, Francis. You've been a great help... Oh, have you seen my Daughter?"

"Meg? I mean, uh, Mademoiselle Giry?"

The Madame smiled kindly.

"Yes. Do you know where she is?"

"Oh, uh... I think she is with her friend, Mademoiselle Jammes."

"Ah, good. Well, I must go. Farewell Francis."

"Farewell Madame."

He turned and went back inside. Giry watched him go then called softly up to the driver where she needed to go. He looked at her quizzically.

"Are you sure Madame?"

"Yes. I need to fetch a friend from there. It will not be long and I will pay more for the detour."

"As you wish Madame."

The luggage was placed in the back swiftly, except for her carpet bag ("No. I need that with me.") and her purse before Giry looked one last time at the Opera house, whispered her goodbye and stepped into the cab.

When Madame Giry finally made it back to the old warehouse she found Erik seated on a box in a dark corner, his back to her. The scene didn't bode well. She moved closer slowly. He held something in his hand and she begun to worry. The object glistened ominously in the narrow tunnel of sunlight that shone over his right shoulder.

"Erik?" Giry called softly so as not to startle him.

He didn't reply.

"Are you alright?" She tried again.

Again no answer. Antoinette went to his side and very carefully set her hand on his back. She sighed in relief. At least he was breathing steadily. Yet he just sat, staring at the wall.

Giry took note of the whole situation before acting. The shining thing in his hand was a shard of broken glass, and it looked moist. Her eyes shifted. His left arm was rested on his lap, sleeve rolled up to the elbow. It appeared to have a few small gashed on the inner forearm, but nothing near the deep pulsing vein at the wrist. Antoinette sighed once more. It wasn't so bad.

She had expected this to happen. It was not the first time Erik had turned to a sharp item for comfort in his depressed moods. _Physical _pains had always been a relief from the emotional and mental ones for the Phantom. Even as a small child. When his back stung from being beaten, he didn't have to think about the jeering faces staring through his cage bars. He'd even told her once about how good it was when his master hit him too hard and he'd become unconscious. It broke her heart over and over to think of one so young turning to that.

Madame Giry began her work. She approached him as you might a jumpy horse. She left one hand on his shoulder and slowly, softly, ran the other down his arm. When she reached his hand, she gently coaxed the glass out of his grasp. He didn't move, either to resist or otherwise. Giry tossed the bloodied thing away in distain then manoeuvred herself to kneel in front of her charge. She took his arm and using her kerchief, dabbed at the thin wounds, five in all. They continued to bleed lightly. She went to the small purse she kept with her and took from it a hip flask of Port and the emergency bandage she always carried. Being a Ballet Mistress, Giry never knew when one of the 'rats' might hurt themselves and was prepared for all situations.

Returning to Erik, Antoinette now moved his arm away from his body and opened the bottle. She held his hand in hers, giving it a little squeeze before pouring the cleansing alcohol over his self-inflicted injuries. At last he reacted to her presence, if only to close his eyes and pale slightly. She sedately wrapped the bandage around his forearm, ripping a little at the end to tie it.

At last finished her task, Giry fetched the cloak she'd brought from his home and placed it around Erik's shoulders, letting her arms linger there a while. He did tense in her semi-embrace but she didn't back away. The Phantom had gone too long with no human affection and Antoinette was determined to make amends. She took a breath and addressed him.

"You've been busy."

He didn't acknowledge her. She continued anyway,

"I have a carriage waiting for us. We'll go straight to my house in the country. It's quite a journey but we'll be there by tomorrow night if we leave now... You don't have to talk to me if you do not wish to, and I understand that I could never know how you feel right now. But Erik, I don't want to see any more of this nonsense. It will not make things any better."

Madame Giry lightly touched his bandaged arm.

"Understand?"

His eyes fell to the floor and then he outright looked away from her, sighing deeply.

"I'll take that as a yes. Come now, we must leave."

Giry helped him to his feet and together they went to her waiting carriage.

* * *

Well there you go. Please do review, it makes me happy! I'll keep you guessing what the 'precious memento' is til later. Erik plushies for anyone who can guess what it is though : ) Now I'm off to write more as I've had a big visit from my muse cleverly disguised as my Beta! 


	4. A picture can speak 1000 words

Phew... One more down, I have no idea how many to go! But I had great fun writing this one. Hope you all enjoy reading it.

Quick authors note, I don't own Phantom of the Opera etc. Also, a thank you to my reviewers Possumgurl and Sue Raven… You guys make posting online worth it. If I weren't reviewed I'd just keep it all to myself! Hehe…

I find I want to 'dedicate' this chapter to two people, so here goes...

To my Beta who gave me the idea in the first place for this chapter and helped me climb out of a giant hole of writers block. Big thanks there!

And to David, not that you'd ever read this but Happy Birthday! It's always fun chatting with someone who is more of a movie freak (or do you prefer 'eccentric' now?) then I am :)

That's all for now. Enjoy.

* * *

The two fugitives sat silently in the Brougham, each gazing out their own window. Erik had immediately sat to the right of Madame Giry so she was not subjected to his loathsome face further. She made no objections, for fear of hurting his feelings. Contrary to the belief of the Corps De Ballet, he didn't enjoy terrifying people with it. He'd done enough of that as a child and it never gave him much satisfaction.

He stared with no interest at the countryside flying past. Giry was careful not to look at him too much. She was trying to study his expression, perhaps determine his emotions at that moment. But it was hard to do because she knew full well how he despised being looked at and so could only steal the occasional sideways glance.

His mouth was set in a grim line and his eyes were glazed over. He was more then likely lost deep in thought.

'Pondering the mysteries of the universe? Hmpf! More likely thinking of Christine...' Giry thought to herself. Erik's eyes begun to droop, then slowly closed. 'Or maybe he's just exhausted.' She smiled.

She should have known. He'd not slept properly for so long. Slowly Madame Giry edged closer to his side and with great caution and loving care placed her arm around his shoulders. He didn't stiffen this time. Sleep must have truly taken a hold. Giry sat right next to him now and pulled his head down to rest more comfortably on her shoulder. Erik sighed in his slumbering and nuzzled further into the woman.

Giry settled back. It was going to be a long trip. To help the time pass quicker she reached into the big old bag containing Erik's belongings and pulled out the sketchpad again. She caressed the cover. It was a beautiful book, bound in leather, with soft paper inside. A well-worn pencil hung from it by a piece of black ribbon. She wondered where he'd gotten the little treasure.

As she was lifting it out from the bag onto her lap a sheet of loose-leaf paper slipped half out. Curious, she opened the book there and gasped at what she saw. It was her; a lovingly drawn picture of her, only not a normal portrait. This was something else.

She was dancing, frozen in time in an arabesque, on a fluffy cloud. Erik was standing beside her, holding her hand for balance. Yet it wasn't truly Erik for he had no mask and no marred features. Only perfectly flawless skin, as it may have appeared if he held a mirror over the middle of his face and reflected the left side back onto itself... But the most fascinating thing she found in this drawing was the attention to fine detail he had put into adding two large dove-like wings that sprouted from her back.

She was an Angel.

Antoinette looked across at the unmasked man, asleep on her shoulder, with tears welling in her eyes. Never had she imagined that he saw her in such a light. Erik had called Antoinette many things over the years; his guardian, his conscience, his mouthpiece, the Ghost's keeper, old woman, Ballerina, a few things she'd rather not repeat even, but never an Angel!

She pushed the picture back into its place carefully and turned the page. Suddenly she felt rather embarrassed and flattered. Apparently this old Dance Mistress warranted a whole section of his book!

She turned the pages slowly so as to savour every image. First she was brushing her hair in her room as a young woman, preparing for a performance. Then she was a little older, and much larger, waddling about, heavily pregnant. And then she was back in her room teaching little Meg to walk. Next she was standing with the _Corps_; cane in hand ready to regain their flitting attention... She continued to leisurely observe when a movement broke her reverie.

A hand reached out before her towards the book. She thought he was upset at her looking at it and was going to snatch it away, but no. Instead, the composer of the beautiful pictures turned haltingly to the second last page. It was a drawing of, once again, young Antoinette. She was staring through metal bars with such a melancholy look on her face. Giry wondered briefly why he would draw her thus, behind bars, and then she realised. It was not she who was in the cage.

Erik spoke for the first time then.

"I see this in my dreams... It's always so clear, so easy to conjure in my mind... But I could never get this one right..."

He turned now to the last page. It was a wedding. Giry recognised it. It was a copy of the photo of her wedding, the only one Erik had ever witnessed. Only the characters had all been changed. In place of the Bridesmaids were herself and Meg. Christine replaced the bride. There were no groomsmen in this version. Where the groom was to be, stood Erik. But, and this broke her heart, where the face had been was now a hole burnt into the page. He had seared himself out of the picture and placed behind the void a small mirror.

Tears that had brimmed in her eyes before now flooded out. The utter despair of the picture was like knives in her heart. She snapped the book shut angrily, pushed it back into the carpetbag and pulled out her spare kerchief to wipe her eyes. Erik whispered dejectedly,

"Sorry..."

"Don't be. Not for that." Madame Giry composed herself again and replaced the kerchief.

"I'm tired Madame... Might I lay down?" Erik mumbled. Giry turned to him, puzzled at the unexpected statement. His face was clammy and pale. He looked about to collapse. She knew straight away then that he was coming down with a fever. Antoinette nodded and moved over a little. He practically fell to the seat. She caught his head in her hands and placed in gently onto her lap. It was a true sign of how unwell he was, that she got away with such a gesture. He slipped into a restless slumber as Giry stroked his sweaty hair. Occasionally he would twitch or whimper in his sleep and she could only imagine the nature of his dreams.

Antoinette set her head back and tried to get a little rest herself. They would arrive in a few hours.


	5. Rude Awakenings

Disclaimer: Can be seen in the first chapter :P

I'm so sorry! Ahem, Now that that's out of my system...

To my wonderful reviewers...

Possumgurl: You continue to delight with your constant reviews. It makes me smile :D See! Oh, and "The Force will be with you always..."

BehemianCane04: Thanks muchly! I love the image of him sleeping too, I just had to write it in! Even the strongest person is vulnerable and innocent in sleep. And I wanted Giry to see that again in Erik. To remember why she was doing what she was doing. That under it all he was just a broken man...

MmeGiry: HI!

Ladysummoner2: Yeah, I think the artist side of Erik has often been overlooked. But, get this... I just bought the DVD and have watched it over and over and noticed something. During "Music of the Night" you can see in his little office nook area and he has, against one wall to the right, a drawing/painting of Christine's face. It's so beautiful! Thanks for the review :)

Yeah, it took me forever to update! Unfortunately, my Beta has been run off her feet with school and couldn't get a chance to go through this for me so if it is full of mistakes or just un-understandable things, I apologise in advance. I'm just shocking without the invaluable fic-fixing she provides. But on the bright side she did great with finals :) Well done Hun!

Happy Birthday Bobmcbobbob1! As a pressie I give you gratuitous promotion... Go read her stuff! All of it!

An awesome person who goes by the alias 'Punjabchild' has drawn me a beautiful companion pic to this fic! It can be seen here, just remember to take out the spaces...

http/ www. deviantart. com/ deviation/ 16783376/

Some of you have said that it seems like an Erik/Giry. Well, it's not supposed to be heading that direction. I am simply alluding to a previous relationship. You'll understand in time. Please be patient with me :)

Thank you all for reading and please do review! I love them...

* * *

Erik awoke in a strange bed. He was confused, disorientated and couldn't seem to clearly recall the last few days. Something had happened. Something bad, but he just couldn't think! He jumped up in alarm and immediately regretted it. His head was pounding _and_ spinning. He fell back onto the pillow with a groan, trying not to lose his stomach... _again_. 

Madame Giry had apparently heard his thrashing because she was soon in checking on him.

"You're awake at last! Good, I just put some tea on. How are you feeling?"

She placed her hand on his forehead, testing his temperature. Erik looked at her as though she'd grown a second head.

"What happened...?" Goodness, how his throat hurt!

"You've had a fever. All the excitement, cold and not eating properly I don't doubt. But it seems to be lessening a little... We're in my cottage. I practically had to carry you in the other night, you were so exhausted. This is one of the guest rooms. It's cosy enough. You can stay here until I fix up a more permanent room for you. When you're a little stronger you can have a tour and see where you'd like to be."

Erik gazed at the woman in wonder. She was so very calm and cheerful. Yet she was asking him, to his extremely unmasked face, to come and live with her! It was ridiculous!

"Madame I..." He croaked out.

"You aren't going anywhere young man!" She waged a warning finger at him.

"Like it or not you're going to be living here, under my roof. And in this house _Monsieur Le Phantom_, I make the rules."

Okay, so she didn't grow two heads. She'd just learnt a little mind reading instead.

"But..."

"I don't care what you have to say. It's final!"

"You can't seriously want to harbour a killer?" He tried, a bit desperately now.

"I have been doing so for 20 years. I think I'll cope. Now are you ready for some tea or do you wish to wait?"

"Tea?" It was getting to be too much. His mind couldn't comprehend this at all.

"I'll bring it in then. Perhaps you could try some soup later also. But we shan't rush it. Now lie back and rest, I'll only be a moment."

Erik did as he was told. Now you may think that the Phantom of the Opera was not the obedient little puppy sort. That he would rebel just for the sake of it. Well, I must remind you how shocked he was. And that no one had ever treated him this way. Never in his life had someone cared for him when he was unwell, let alone bring him tea in bed. It was like some crazy dream or nightmare.

Erik tried to settle back. He'd not felt this sick for many years. It was terrible. He felt so confused, and a bit delusional, like he was just waking from a long sleep or drug induced reverie. And though he didn't know it, this was actually the case as Antoinette Giry had managed to slip him something during his worsts moments of fever the night before. He was still under the influence of a powerful narcotic.

Trying to take his mind off the feeling, the Phantom inspected the room around him. It was very plain, with heavy brown drapes drawn over the window to keep out the sunlight. Behind his head was a medium sized wardrobe, slightly open, with a cosy looking dressing gown hanging on the door corner. By the foot of the bed was a large old bag with his shirt and boots sitting on it.

Wait...

Shirt and boots?

Erik now tried to rise but didn't make it far. He'd only managed to prop himself up a little on his elbows by the time Giry re-entered. She carried with her a tray with his tea on it. Erik glared at her, clearly annoyed.

"Madame, you undressed me!"

Antoinette was not fazed in the least bit.

"Only partly." She set the tray down over his lap and lifted him up further to place another pillow behind his back. "I had to bring your fever down... Besides, it's all ripped and ruined now."

Giry had begun bustling around the room, moving this and that and unpacking from a box of linen.

"My boots..." He said softly, trying to save his voice.

"_And _socks. They had to come off! I'll not have you sleeping with them on, not in one of my beds anyway!"

He was downright unimpressed with her now.

"And I suppose I should thank you for leaving me my pants?" He snapped.

"Well, for modesty sake... But you'll need to change soon enough. They're filthy with mud! Perhaps you can have a bath later."

Erik had just attempted to sip his tea as she said this and his reaction to her statement caused him to suck in a breath too sharply. The hot fluid promptly went down his windpipe and he begun to cough. Giry ran to him and rubbed his back.

"Careful my Dear!" she cried. "It's very hot."

Between choking and trying to breathe again, Erik gave Antoinette a dirty look. She almost laughed at him. Almost.

"Well, you _must _be feeling better."

"Oh, go away woman." He whined. "Can I not just die in peace?"

Giry sighed and sat down beside him on the bed. Apparently his lucidity was creeping back now and she felt she had to say something. It had been pressing on her mind for many hours.

"Erik. I... I'm sorry. I'm sorry I left you alone for all those years... But it will be different from now on, I promise. I won't leave you again."

Erik's eyes began to mist with anguished tears.

"Madame, I know your heart is pure in wanting to do this but... it's too late for me..."

"No Erik! No it's not! There is still so much life left for you to lead. Don't give up now, please."

Madame Giry reached out and touched his hand. The gesture was meant to be one of caring and offered friendship. However, fate has a twisted sense of humour. Her palm rested directly over his badly bruised knuckles from where he'd punched the stone walls of his home. Antoinette pulled back in alarm when all of the colour drained from his face. Erik let out an extremely inappropriate exclamation of pain. He cradled the hand near his chest.

"Oh, I am so sorry!" Giry burst out. Erik just scowled at her in rather childish accusation.

"OW!"

Giry couldn't help herself; she had to smile behind her hand. His expression at that moment, that look of _attempted _anger which was more of a pout, was so adorable and she'd not seen it in many years. He continued to glower; at least, he thought he did.

"I'm sorry Erik. Do forgive me... I'll leave you be, try to rest. If you need anything, just call. I'm only in the next room. And I really am sorry about your hand. I'll come in and check your wounds again later."

She got up and exited. Erik muttered behind her,

"Clumsy woman."

…

Perhaps it was the time alone, or maybe just the reminder of his hurt arm that did it. But when Madame Giry looked in on Erik an hour later, he was again in a state of terrible melancholy. He immediately turned away from her when she entered the room. Antoinette sat again on the bed beside him and softly asked to see his arm. He held it out to her without a word. With some little difficulty she removed the bandage from his cuts and bathed them. When she was done he pulled it back protectively to his chest and remained silent and still.

Giry left him be. She took the tea tray with her as she went. Outside the door Antoinette sighed and shook her head. His fever may have abated but a much more deadly illness returned in its place. Erik was, once more, heartsick for Christine. And for that there was no known cure.

* * *

P.S. For a good laugh, watch carefully as the Phantom carries Christine to the bed in "Music of the Night". Giant curtain tassel! How I did laugh! Please enjoy this hilarious moment with me... 


	6. Troubled mind

Hey all! Back again!

Disclaimer- As I understand it, 'The Phantom' belongs to a variety of different people now, but _I_ am not one of them so I hereby **Disclaim!**

Thanks once again to Possum, your reviews are always day-brighteners :)

Hope you all like this chapter. I know it's a bit disjointed and scatterish (That's not even a word is it?) but so are his thoughts, so hopefully it gives the impression of a troubled mind churning over. That's what I was going for anyway. That's it from me… Enjoy!

Oh, BTW, Bold and VVV indicates the beginning and end of a letter because I didn't know how else to show it clearly…

* * *

Erik couldn't tell how long he lay there. All he knew was that he'd remembered.

Christine...

Giry had come in and his arm hurt for a while but then he'd just lain awake, staring at the wall. Time elapsed. Wether quick or slow he didn't care. Eventually he slipped into sweet sleep. His dreams were troubled and when he awoke with a start, thankfully he couldn't for the life of him recall what they were about. Erik wiped his sweaty brow and rested back on his pillow. He wished he could just fall asleep and not wake. Just drift slowly into death. And perhaps he could... if _she _were not there. No, his Antoinette would never allow it to happen. Foolish woman cared too much. But, he supposed, was that really so bad? At least someone did.

Oh, but this bed was warm and peaceful. If only he could truly rest. But rest eluded his troubled mind. Erik knew, in the back of said mind, that it might be possible to get over Christine. Of course it was _possible_, and it wouldn't be the hardest thing he'd ever attempted in his life. The problem was he didn't want to get over her! What he wanted was the perfect life he dreamt of all those nights. How he would imagine her... lying beside him, singing together in their home and laughing. And yes, how he fantasised of the way she would touch him, without fear or malice. These thoughts were his companions in the lonely hours between their singing lessons, where he would get another glimpse of his Christine and hear her voice again.

But those days were long gone now. Their last lesson together had been many months ago. He'd hoped she would allow him to help her with 'Don Juan' but she rarely stepped into the Opera House then. Only when necessity demanded and it tore him up. That time was a very dark part of Erik's life.

He was furious; absolutely furious. At everyone. At the Managers who just didn't seem to get it. At Giry who wasn't being strict enough on her 'Rats'. At Piangi who was butchering his Don Juan. At Carlotta, simply because he could. At Raoul, the obnoxious and self-absorbed prat of a Vicomte, just for being _born!_ And lastly, but not nearly least, at Christine. His Angel, whom he had given the chance to fly, only to have her tear off her wings and spit in his face. Yes, angry and vicious thoughts plagued his mind and he wallowed in them.

But in truth, he must have scared her something awful. This girl who had grown up running around the dark halls of his Opera House now entered for rehearsals alone. And that she did with trembling steps.

Sometimes if, during said rehearsals, Erik heard her sing an off note or he thought she was not putting enough effort in, the Phantom would send a letter of critique via Madame Giry. Christine was always disturbed by them. Raoul had at one point threatened the Dance Mistress, telling her not to keep delivering them as they 'did not care what the lunatic thought of his Fiancée's singing'. Erik fumed at this and Christine went very pale, knowing in her heart that he had heard. His next communiqué had an addendum to Raoul;

'If I were you Monsieur, I would care! After all, Christine still does, wether she admits it to herself or not…'

The boy confronted her about it.

"Do you Christine? Do you still care?" He demanded to know, clearly hurt.

"Yes Raoul... I do... Even though he scares me he is still a great teacher, and I will always sing better with his guidance. Besides, if I do not please him..."

Erik's heart had leapt at this. So the girl was not so foolish after all. And she did seem to be paying some attention to his recommendations. However, things became a little more complicated when he sent the next letter. Raoul managed to intercept it before Christine could see and the Vicomte went mad. Giry unfortunately was at the receiving end of his tirade.

"Madame Giry, I'm warning you, do not continue to deliver these letters. I can't understand how you justify it when you can clearly see how it affects Christine! Are you deliberately trying to help this madman? Or perhaps it's just that you do not care for Christine as much as you'd like us to believe?" He'd yelled at the woman.

Giry, as always, remained calm and composed. She simply replied,

"I care, Monsieur. I care enough to give them to her. Because if I didn't he would find another way to _express _himself. And Christine knows it!"

"Well I don't!" He fumed. "Do you hear that _Phantom_!"

Erik stormed back to his lair and re-penned the note, only this time he wasn't as polite about the obvious slips Christine had been making. The previous letter had simply read;

VVV

**Christine**

**You haven't been trying hard enough with that high D in the introduction. I know you can do better. Re-read my instructions for that particular stanza. It's not so hard, try again. And do be more conscious of when rehearsals start, you're arriving later and later. It makes me worry about you. Please be careful my dear.**

**Your Angel.**

VVV

But now Erik had been vexed a little too much. He wrote this instead;

VVV

**My _Dear_ Mademoiselle.**

**I have noticed, to my great disappointment in my former student, that you have not been emphasising the particular 'D' I've previously mentioned, from the introduction, as I _clearly_ instructed. If this has not been rectified by the next rehearsals, which must be attended promptly at 3pm I might add, I shall be deeply dissatisfied! Do not toy with me Christine. I know you can sing much better then your, frankly, dismal performances so far. Or was I mistaken in thinking that you could be a Diva?**

**Prove me wrong my Angel. **

**I expect no less!**

**O.G.**

**P.S. Please inform your _gentleman friend_ that I do not appreciate his interfering in _our_ business. Namely the letter he tore up and the unpleasant words spoken to Madame Giry. Yes, Monsieur, the Phantom heard!**

VVV

This letter was discovered by Christine in her cloak pocket. She blanched considerably when she pulled it out. With a quick glance around the hall and her hands trembling she broke the wax Red Skull seal. Erik watched her read, satisfied that he'd made his point. But when Christine bust into tears his heart broke for her. He couldn't help it; he still loved her deeply after all! Yet the brokenness turned to ice in him when Raoul came running to the rescue. Christine fell into his arms and gave him the note. He cursed rather loudly after reading it.

They left the Opera House together and Erik watched them go, scornfully. The next day Christine was at rehearsals 10 minutes early. And she came without Raoul! She did try the introductory bar again and hit the difficult note easily. Erik was pleased and he sent her a rose...

The Phantom gasped in a deep breath at the flashback he'd had. It was a bittersweet memory. All his memories of her were...

Erik was about to, again, slip into dreams of passing to the next life when he growled an annoyed curse. Apparently life would not let him go so easily. It tightened it's strangle hold over him with the simplest of occurrences. As he laid there in bed, all romantic notions of a tragic death fled at the sensation in the pit of his belly. Ah, but such was life. So very unpredictable and infuriating.

"Damn!" He said again.

Erik forced himself to sit up. He grabbed the robe Giry had left hanging in his room, and tossed it on, shivering slightly at the chill. With a sigh he pushed himself out from under the covers and stepped onto the cold floor. He almost smiled; the ensuing cold feet of getting out of bed were a familiar sensation. He stood a little precariously, and his head protested madly, but Erik pushed himself. After all, when nature calls, even the Phantom of the Opera must answer!

…

Later that evening...

Madame Giry slipped into the guest room to check on Erik. He was sleeping lightly, blankets pulled up under his arms. He'd been crying, it was obvious, and he had good reason! But now as he lay in slumber, she prayed that he would have happy dreams.

He snored so very softly and Antoinette didn't resist the soft smile that graced her lips. It was then that she remembered. She reached into the deep pockets of her black dress and pulled out a dear little thing she'd found in his old home. Ever so gently, Giry placed it beside him. He stirred and opened his eyes.

"Mmmm... Hm?" The Phantom rubbed his eyelids with his fists, still so childlike sometimes. She knew Erik had never really grown up. That's what endeared him to Antoinette over and over again; the occasional pure innocence she was blessed enough to see in him.

"Shh... I didn't mean to wake you. Just wanted to give you this. An old friend of yours I believe." She placed the little toy Monkey in his hand and the man almost seemed to blush.

"Where did you find him? He got lost..."

"Under the bed. And that will teach you for not cleaning up now and then." She chided amusedly.

Erik looked at her sleepily.

"Thank you Antoinette."

"You're welcome dear... Sleep now."

He yawned and rested back, shifting a little for comfort, still clutching his only childhood plaything. Giry lent over and stroked his hair. The little snores greeted her ears again. He was already asleep.

"Goodnight Erik."

* * *

Sorry if my music terminology is off, it's been a few years since I played etc. Plus, I'm not entirely happy with the last two chapters. If anyone has any suggestions to better them, please let me know. I love your feedback :) I may change them at a later date. Will let you know. Thanks for reading! 


	7. Little luxuries

To all my readers, profuse apologise! This is not a dead story, just has been through a bit of a dry patch. You see, first I had the dreaded Writers Block, then I had a house fire (Lost the computer, all stories on it etc). Thus, had to find a new house, buy a new computer, get the internet again and finally re-write the next three chapters from scratch! So I hope you'll forgive me for not having updated as soon as I would have liked.

Hope you enjoy. Please review kindly and let me know what you think. Constructive criticism and spelling correction always appreciated, hehe.

* * *

A grey light shone in his window. Erik opened his eyes with an irritated mutter. It seemed the weather matched his mood as a distant rumble warned of the storm on its way.

The phantom sat up and looked around. The little guest room was gloomy today, to say the least. Nothing of interest save the carpetbag filled with his possessions. As he turned in the bed, his hand bumped up against something rough. He looked down bewildered at the old toy.

"Nadir? Where on earth did you come from?"

His mind fell back to the last few days again. The anger, pain, blood, sickness, weakness, remembering… It all washed over him in another sudden nauseating wave. Erik ran his hand through his hair and winced. He noticed, as though for the first time, the bandages around his fist and forearm. Gently he unwrapped the fabric and inspected the bloody product of his own misery.

"Oh, well done Erik…" He mumbled to himself sarcastically. "_More_ scars… Could have at least done the job properly!"

"Do you always talk to yourself like that?"

Giry interrupted him from the doorway. He turned to her and just sighed, defeated. She wanted to offer words of comfort but none came.

There was a moment of strange silence.

"Did you dream of Jules after he died?" Erik asked unexpectedly.

Antoinette was stunned.

"I… Well of course I did… I still do. Why do you ask?"

He shrugged and looked out the window.

"I'm just so numb… and it hurts more then anything!"

She went and sat on the bed beside him.

"That is a little confusing I must say."

"It doesn't exactly make a lot of sense to me… I'm just so sick of it all! The running and hiding and trying to convince myself not to care because no one else will! I'm all torn up inside and I don't know how to deal with it. How do I go on Ann? How do I live without her?"

Antoinette sat her hand on his shoulder in a sympathetic gesture. The Phantom suddenly snapped around and grabbed her wrist painfully, making her jump.

"OUCH! Erik, let me go!" She cried. He flinched back as though struck.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean… It's just…"

"I know. It's alright. My fault..."

She backed away to give him a little space. Her heart was pounding. That was the first time he'd really _reacted_ to her presence since she'd met him in the tunnels. If it was a good or bad sign, she couldn't tell.

He spoke again.

"It's still so…" The Phantom choked on his words.

"Strange to be toughed again?" She finished for him.

He nodded. Giry smiled at the troubled man.

"Lost little boy indeed… My Dear, I wonder if you would do me, and perhaps yourself, a favour?"

He took a deep, sad breath and then slowly became suspicious.

"What?"

"Take a break from the brooding and come get cleaned up. I've run a hot bath for you and set out fresh clothes."

Erik dropped back onto his pillow, feigning tiredness.

"I really don't feel like that now."

Giry's demeanour changed. She'd half expected this.

The woman couldn't really be blamed for getting a bit annoyed. She was tired herself and had been through quite an ordeal. And he was beginning to get on her nerves a little. This constant self-indulgent misery was not going to make things any better. She wanted to snap him out of it, but knowing Erik as she did, it would have to be gentle 'snapping'. After all it had only been a few days ago that his heart was broken… no _rent_ in two.

Giry just wanted to see him come to terms with everything that had happened, and move on. But all she could really do was give the encouragement for him to reach that end himself. And that was terribly exasperating to a hands-on woman like her. Perhaps if she just…

Antoinette rolled her eyes with an exasperated 'ugh!'. In one fluid motion she stood up and pulled off his blankets at the same time.

"Hey!" He griped. "What do you think you're…?"

"I'm not going to see it go to waste Erik."

He crossed his arms over his chest defiantly.

"I'd really rather not Madame."

"Oh please!" She almost laughed at him. "_Monsieur,_ I have a teenage daughter and I practically raised you. You think I'll accept _that_? I do not think so! Now get up and get in that bathroom. Goodness, I can't believe you're still wearing that blasted Don Juan costume!"

"Alright!" He bellowed back. "Stop treating me like a child Ann!"

"Stop acting like one Erik!"

He pushed himself up and with one indignant glare in her direction, started off to the bathroom.

"It's down the h…"

"I _know_ where it is."

"Fine. Don't bite my head off!"

Inside, Giry smiled. He was fighting back. _That_ was a good sign.

…

Erik found the room, much quicker then he had the night before. It was a great deal brighter today though, despite the storm, with a warm fire crackling away in the little hearth. Giry had placed a towel and his clothes in front of it to warm for him.

The small bathroom was very homely. It had the simple function of containing the bath and the door to the water closet. The big tub was indeed full and steaming. It actually looked quite… welcoming. But he wasn't going to admit that to anyone, let alone the infuriating woman outside!

Dropping his clothes on the floor (no one had ever told him to do otherwise) Erik climbed in and sunk into the soothing water. It really did feel good on weary bones and muscles. Lying back, he closed his eyes to savour the sensation so rarely afforded.

He never did truly allow himself the luxury of bathing decently in his old home. It was just too risky. _If_ anyone ever did stumble down there, and _if_ they did happen to arrive when he was so unfortunately predisposed, well… He was always on full guard against such at thing. That was the only reason he'd had the rope ready and waiting for that _Fop _when he'd arrived. He had simply forgotten to take it back to dry land after cleaning up before the Opera. Lucky thing too…

Erik shook his head. He did not want to be thinking about such things! He wanted to… Truth be told, he didn't really know what he wanted anymore. He did, however, need to work out what to do next.

But that in itself would be quite a feat! What was there to do! He had nothing left! Not his home, his music, his Christine or even his mask! It was all gone and he was all alone. No wait, wrong again. He wasn't alone. He had Antoinette.

Antoinette… How he'd missed her. And yet now it seemed he might not be able to get rid of her. She wanted to help. Had said as much before. But she couldn't help him, now or ever. She had no idea what it was like to be Erik. She really should just go home and leave him to his fate. She should go back to her job and friends and daughter…

Erik sat up suddenly, splashing water around the large tub.

MEG!

Whatever happened to her? The Phantom found himself, for the first time in a long time, fearful of his own action's consequences.

What if she was hurt? What if she'd been burnt? He couldn't live with the thought of having brought harm to his little 'niece'. Such a concept was almost as bad as having hurt Christine!

"Oh, Christine!" His heart collapsed again and old tears pricked in eyes he could have sworn should have run dry by now.

"Christine, _why_!"

* * *

Teehee, yes, Nadir makes an appearance. I couldn't help myself :)


	8. Discussion

I know,this is allkinda going over old stuff again. Yes, it's bothering me too. I don't really go for mopey Erik. But I know, when you feel that way, things just go over and over in your head til they drive you buggy so… But the next few chapters should start to get juicy :) Do let me know if there is any errors. Upcoming: Hints of old feelings. Broken hearts. Meg.

* * *

Mme Giry sat in her little kitchen with a pot of tea. It wasn't what she wanted to be drinking but Ce La Vie...

She waited for him, hoping and praying while she sipped at her drink.

At long last, Erik entered the kitchen, tying his cravat. He looked like he was at least trying to regain some of his old composure; as though by taking pride in his appearance he could push away the hurt evident in his haunted eyes. It had always been the same…

Giry set a cup across from herself invitingly.

"Tea? I tried to make it the way you like this time."

"Merci Madame." He sat down and wrapped his hands around the cup, warming them. Erik remained focused on the brown liquid for a long time.

"I have not yet thanked you for your help Madame…"

"You don't have to Erik."

He looked up at her very seriously.

"I didn't intend to. It was very foolish of you Giry. You should not have come for me."

She returned his steely gaze with equal ferocity.

"I could not leave you there either."

"Why?"

"Because you are my friend." Antoinette answered firmly.

"I thought you'd given up on our friendship a long time ago. Certainly seemed that way."

"Perhaps you were wrong. Perhaps…" She suddenly became fascinated by the pattern on her saucer but continued talking. "Perhaps I was just hurt. You didn't always treat me kindly you know. But I kept going." She looked up into his eyes. "As you must now. You cannot just quit on life because one person breaks your heart. You have to fight Erik. I know it's not in your nature to give up."

The now ex-Opera Ghost dropped his head into his hands as she spoke and his shoulders fell tiredly.

"What's the point?"

"Please don't be so easily discouraged! You have a chance now to start over. To begin a new life!"

"Maybe so… But the old still lingers." He gazed at Giry, not fully meeting her look. "How do I let go of her? That voice that both enslaved and freed me. She was my world!"

"And what of the music Erik?" Giry asked quietly. She knew his buttons and she pressed one now.

He almost faltered.

"The music was in Christine."

"Oh come now. Not even you believed that pathetic statement! 'Music has no master. It _is_ the master and it will not abide to be contained in anyone'… Do you remember that Erik?"

"Vaguely…" He conceded.

"You said that to me."

"I was wrong." He stated flippantly. "I was a child."

"You were never a child Erik. That option was stolen from you long ago. Even you must admit that."

His fists clenched and he whispered.

"Yes."

"Then…" Giry concluded, "Christine was merely a passing channel of your true master."

"She is the embodiment of music!" He argued.

Giry's eyes narrowed. Now she had him!

"_If_ she was, then she would never have begrudged you your face. Remember Erik, '_Music always forgave me afterwards'_!"

His own words, used once more against him, undid the man.

Yes. Music always forgave. Even in his worst sins, he could take solace in the music. But Christine didn't offer that. She failed where music embraced.

He growled.

"You're trying to make me angry at Christine! It's not going to work."

"I'm not trying to make you angry, I'm trying to make you see that she was _human_. You have to forgive her and let go!"

"I can't let her go. She's the only person I ever loved!"

"That wasn't love Erik, it was obsession!"

His look turned icy and he stood slowly.

"Madame," Erik sneered, "I thank you for your kind hospitality but I believe it is time for me to go."

…

Antoinette sighed. That didn't go as she'd hoped.

"Oh, don't be foolish Ann! What did you expect to happen!"

Giry got up and continued with her cleaning.

Since arriving, and between caring for her charge, she had attempted to bring her home back to a functioning order. The old cottage was much the same as the last time she'd seen it; with perhaps a little more dust. She had, so far, unpacked her clothes to the point of laying them out on the big bed that used to be hers and Jules'. She wanted to get it all done as quickly as possible but every time she tried to rush the job, something would remind her.

Memories, happy or otherwise were quite a hindrance when cleaning the house you'd briefly shared with your beloved husband, and had meant to share with your family. All your family…

Madame Giry went to the bathroom to fetch Erik's clothes. She wanted to wash them with her own. It saved time. She scooped up the pants he'd dropped on the floor. It appeared that's all there was. Pants. If Giry had not been so worldly-wise she might have blushed. As it was, she simply rolled her eyes.

"Men… They're all the same. Always thinking with…"

There was a knock at the door.


	9. Two Letters

Thought I might start throwing in some Flashbacks at the beginning of certain chapters. Why?A) hopefully it will give insight and B) to keep Queenie happy :P

To all my wonderful reviewers, thank you all so much! Hope you continue to read and enjoy.

* * *

"_Erik, Jules and I have spoken and… Well, we want you to be Meg's Godfather." _

_There was silence from the walls for a very long time._

"_Why?"_

"_Why? Because you're important to me Erik. You're my friend. And besides, I know no one better that I would trust with watching over my Baby."_

_Another long silence. Oh, how she wished she didn't have to have this conversation with the air around her._

"_Alright."_

"_You'll do it? You'll be Meg's Godfather?"_

"_Yes. But Giry… I don't know what that means."_

"_Oh, well, let me explain…"_

_End flashback_

To say that she was surprised at the letter that had arrived for her would have been a tragic understatement. Giry was blown away!

Meg had already written back! It was true, she had left a letter for her before she had departed Paris, but honestly didn't expect as answer so swiftly.

In truth, she'd sent two letters to her mother. One addressed to 'Mama' and the other, not at all oddly, to her 'Uncle Erik'.

Giry almost cried.

Since Meg was a child she had been writing to 'Uncle Erik', her strange Godfather who 'lived abroad'. Not that he always answered. But on her birthday, every year since her birth, Meg received a gift (often more expensive then her mother could ever afford) It was a constant source of delight for her, and sometimes a comfort, to have someone out there that she could talk to about all her secrets, insecurities and private matters. 'Uncle Erik' seemed to always listen and understand.

And it seemed she wanted that comfort again. Her life _had _just been turned on it's head!

Giry took a steadying breath and knocked softly on his door. There was no answer.

"Erik?"

"Go away."

"Could I…?"

"GO AWAY!" He demanded and something thumped against the door, making Antoinette jump. She sighed and slipped the letter under his door.

Inside the room the man was fuming.

How dare she! How dare that pathetic little scrap of a woman speak to him that way! She had no idea how hard it was for him. No idea how much it hurt to lose Christine. She was perfection to him and he would never believe otherwise!

Still, there was truth in her words. That's what made him so angry. She was right when she said that music forgave his face. He'd never been hurt be music. Never had his heart broken or mask ripped away by the beautiful lilting melodies or raging passionate operas. They were his only solace in life.

But even if Christine wasn't the embodiment of all that, as he had once believed, she at least carried the memory. Now, when he thought of his music, he thought of her. And that was hell on earth! She'd even denied him his music!

Just when he was about to scream from the raging thoughts pounding around in his head, there was a knock at the door. He stared at it for a time, unsure what to do.

"Erik?"

Oh, it was _her_.

"Go away," he snapped.

"Could I…?"

"GO AWAY!"

Erik picked up a shoe and threw it at the door. Childish, he knew, but sometimes that's all he had.

There was a moments silence and something slid under his door. Baffled, he just stared at it, as though it were some riddle he had yet to work out. Quickly, he scooped it up and turned it over in his hands.

It was a letter addressed to 'Uncle Erik'… and it was Meg's handwriting! His heart almost stopped beating in relief!

Sitting on his bed, Erik tore open the envelope and read…

VVV

**Dear Uncle Erik**

**You won't believe what happened. There was a fire at the Opera House! Most everyone escape unharmed but we have all lost our home. I feel bad for Mama. She does not have a job anymore. Fortunately, she has the cottage to live in. I would love to join her there but she said now was not a good time. I think she is quite upset. You know how she likes to be alone when she's upset.**

**How are you? Is everything alright? I received your gift. The shoes were perfect! But you did not write on my birthday. I worry about you sometimes. I know I have never told you this but you mean a great deal to me. To Mama too. I suppose losing so much can put life into perspective. I have come to realise what really matters to me. And you matter. I guess I just wanted to tell you that.**

**I must go. I hope you get this letter and that you will write back soon. I will send it via Mama. She'll know where to forward it, I am sure.**

**With love.**

**Meg Giry.**

VVV

Erik sat in stunned silence.

"Meg…" He whispered. "My, how you've grown child…"

…

Madame Giry went to the sitting room to read her letter. It was all she had hoped for and a little more.

The Jammes' were happy to have Meg stay. The Opera House was a disaster. She wished she could be there. Could she forward the letter to Erik? And then the unexpected news…

It seemed Senor Piangi was only knocked unconscious. He was, as meg put it, 'woken by Carlotta's caterwauling'.

Antoinette laughed.

In her exhaustion brought on by the last few days, she was swept up into a moment of laughter and tears. While she chuckled at the absurd ironies of her life, she wept bitterly at the relief she found in knowing that her friend had not murdered yet again, and that her Daughter was safe and sound.

She sat there on the lounge for some time. Just crying all her hurt out. It was wonderful. A little weight lifted from her shoulders. Antoinette Giry eventually sighed and told herself, somewhere inside, everything would be alright.


	10. Face to Face

A/N: By now, you should all realise that I don't own Phantom, nor the characters. I will take the blame for the plot though!

I don't, personally, know what to make of this chapter, and so will highly value your thoughts. I'm loving these flashbacks at the beginning myself. Hope you do to :) Oh and Bec? I can't remember if I wrote this flashback before or after the whole RP mirror/tantrum incident. I think it was before, so :P Feel free to Punjab me now...

Thanks to my reviewers and regular readers! You all make it worthwhile :)

* * *

_Flashback_

"_Ann?"_

"_Erik?"_

_She'd been coming back from rehearsals when she heard his voice._

"_What are you doing up here now? There are people all around! Where are you?"_

"_In the walls."_

"_How…!"_

"_Oh, I _don't_ have time to explain. I need you to come down right away."_

"_Why ever should I do that? People will wonder where I've gone. It's not safe right now!"_

_He groaned._

"_Please Ann…! Bring a bandage."_

"_Erik? Are you hurt!" She called out softly in alarm._

"_Yes…"_

_Down in the cellars, Antoinette spent the next hour plucking glass from Erik's palm and bandaging it. Glancing up at him, she just had to say something._

"_If I may offer some advice, Erik… Next time you feel like taking your rage out on a mirror, _don't use your hands_!" _

_End Flashback_

Giry didn't see Erik for the rest of the day. He was certainly mad at her. But then when wasn't he in some kind of foul mood? It just seemed to suit him. She left him dinner by his door and said goodnight.

A few hours later she sat, ready for bed, at her dressing table brushing her long hair. She started to braid it when the softest noise reached her ears. Not bothering to turn around, Antoinette spoke,

"Come in Erik."

The door opened and the man stepped in.

"How did you know?"

She grinned.

"I can sense you…" Antoinette turned to him. "Did you want something my Dear?"

He stared at her for a long moment before finally shaking his head. She sighed softly and motioned for him to sit. Erik's head and shoulders fell as he went and perched himself on the edge of her bed. Giry went and sat beside him.

"What is it?"

"I got a letter from Meg…" he muttered.

"I know. Me too."

"She's grown up hasn't she?"

"Yes, she has. I'm very proud of her."

He looked away from her, cheeks a little flushed.

"I shouldn't have…"

"No, you shouldn't. But when did 'shouldn't' ever stop you." She replied light-heartedly, trying to ease the mood around his very uncharacteristic and courageous attempt at an apology.

He looked at her now and nodded a thank you.

"Are you alright? You look weary."

"I can't sleep Giry… I can't stop thinking of her…"

"Do you wish to talk about it?"

He shook his head and whispered.

"No."

"Very well." She reached out to stroke his hair but he flinched back stiffly. Giry huffed, frustrated, and stated,

"Oh Erik, you really must overcome this."

"I don't _like _being touched." He growled back.

"Well, get over it!" she blurted out unthinkingly.

Erik rounded on her, the fury back in his unending eyes.

"That's easy for you to say! You've had a family; a daughter and a husband who loved you. What have I had? A kiss from a girl who despised me! How is that for a lifetime's experience of _touch_!"

"I'm sorry Erik. I didn't mean to…"

"What?" He snapped viciously. "Hurt my feelings? Well, you're about 16 years too late, _Giry_."

Antoinette gasped.

Did he really just say that? Could he still be angry at her for marrying Jules? Of course he could! She'd abandoned him like everyone else in his life. His only friend, his rescuer, his Angel and sister. She had left when she swore she wouldn't. Was it any wonder he was as he was? How would she be if she'd been left alone in the darkness for so many years!

Giry sucked in a deep breath and realised she was crying again.

"I'm sorry, Erik. I was a terrible sister to you…"

He narrowed his eyes at her.

"You still don't get it do you? After so long…? I never wanted a _sister, _Giry. I wanted a _lover_! But I was denied, twice. And for what? Some handsome creature with deep pockets."

She had to know for sure. _Had_ to ask.

"Are you still angry at me for that?"

He sighed.

"I don't blame you for leaving me Ann. I never did…"

He pointed at the photo of Jules on the dresser.

"I blame _him_."

"Erik, don't be spiteful!"

"Why not? Am I not permitted a little spite once in while?"

He leapt off the bed and stormed about the room as they spoke.

"You are better then that!"

"Better!" He scoffed. "Better then _what_? A dog kicked in the gutter perhaps? Because it certainly doesn't feel that way! I am a hideous beast with no soul and the Fate's won't let me forget it…"

Antoinette's patience snapped.

"For Heaven's sake! Do you honestly think you are the only person in the world who suffers? Because, believe it or not, I have seen worse things then your face on the streets of Paris!"

Erik's fists clenched as he began to tremble. He sneered bitterly at her. Madame Giry knew he was just trying to mask the hurt he felt at her harsh words. He turned towards the door but her hand soon clamped firmly around his wrist and swung him back around to face her. And face her he would. He was about to experience the full force of Antoinette Giry's fury.

"Oh no you don't! You do not get to just run away anymore young man. I'm sick of putting up with your 'Phantom Tantrums'! It's about time you learnt to face your problems and _yourself_. Come here!"

She pulled him towards her dressing table, but he resisted.

"No." There was a faint, almost imperceptible, vulnerability in his voice when he said this. His angry façade was weakening. "Let me go woman!"

"Come Erik!" She demanded and dragged him to the table. He tried to hold back but she forced him in front of it.

The mirror sat before him like a silent gloating enemy. That was what was causing him to lose his hold of a normally very stubborn temperament. In another situation, she would never have gained the upper hand; but he was tired and she had a rather merciless ally.

A broken tear trickled down his cheek as the furious older lady sat him down on her chair. He was face to wretched face with himself now and he couldn't bear it!

Erik turned away. Giry sighed in annoyance and moved to stand behind him. With his eyes firmly shut, he felt her abdomen rest against his back. She gently took his head in her hands and turned it forward again.

"Look." She quietly commanded. He shook his head as more tears spilled out.

"No."

"_Look_."

"Why are you doing this to me?" He sobbed. "You promised…"

"Because you need to see."

Erik slowly, painfully, opened his eyes and watched with a deep heartache as Antoinette's hands tenderly caressed his face.

"_This_… is not who you are Erik…" She moved her hand to place it over his heart. "This is who you are… Can you not see how you are letting your heart break and die over such a silly thing as a face? There is more to life then this! You have so many gifts, so much to give the world. Don't let one tainted thing stand in your way!"

Through his tears he laughed sceptically.

"You honestly believe there is redemption out there for me don't you?"

"I do."

He shook his head.

"What makes you think this is all about my face anyway?" He asked, on the defensive again.

"Because it always has been. It's your greatest fear."

"I'm not afraid of my face!"

"Oh yes you are! And you torment yourself over it. You have never allowed yourself any peace because of it. It's not that everyone hates you, it's that _you_ hate _this_."

She pointed to the disfigured flesh and skin.

"If you can give me a good reason why not to, I'd love to hear it!"

"Urgh! You infuriating man! Will you never accept that some people don't care! Must you always push people away just for the fear of being rejected?"

"Yes!"

"Why!"

"BECAUSE YOU BOTH DID!"

She was a little taken aback.

"Erik…"

"You _left _Ann! You promised you would stay forever and you left…" Erik trembled, and this time she was unsure exactly why. He took a deep cleansing breath and continued, a bit more subdued and quiet now, "But that doesn't matter anymore. I got over you. I'm sure I'll get over… _her_ too, eventually, but I will do it _my _way in _my _time. And I can do it alone _thank you very much_."

"Please don't push me away…"

"I don't want your help! Just leave me be!"

He looked into her eyes.

She looked back.

"Alright. If that's what you want… I'll be here waiting if you need anything. And this time, I'm not going anywhere."

He stood up slowly, sadly, and turned to her.

"That's what you said the first time… Goodnight Ann."

Erik stepped around her and made to leave.

"Wait! Before you go, can you tell me…?" She mumbled, not certain how to word it. "Please, I was never sure… How you truly felt about me, all those years ago? Did… did you honestly… want to be with me?"

He took another deep breath and spoke.

"Do you still have Jules' diary?"

"Yes."

"There's a letter inside it…"

He left it at that and went to bed.

Giry turned straight around and fetched the diary from her drawer. Flipping it open to where he'd once stored papers inside, she pulled them all out. At the very back, tucked into an envelope, was a letter in an awfully familiar red inked scrawl. Antoinette wondered why she had never seen this one before. She read it aloud,

"Monsieur… She said she loves you and that she _wants_ to marry you. And maybe she does. But if you ever make my Beloved cry, even once, know this… I will hunt you down and kill you. You would be dead now if the foolish girl wasn't… oh my… foolish girl wasn't having your bastard. Yours Etc. The Devil's Child."

Her legs gave out and she fell to her bed.

"Oh Erik…"


	11. Where the heart is?

Hooray! Another Chapter for you all. I truly am sorry for the delay. I had the ideas and much of this written quite a while ago but just never was able to get it all written out in any comprehendible form, hehe. Oh, I hate using the old 'OOO' as line breaks so if anyone has any good suggestions what to try instead, please let me know :)

To my lovely reviewers, many thanks. Bobmcbobbob, you made a very good point and I hope this sheds some light on the issue :P

I do not own Phantom of the Opera or any of the recognisable characters in this story.

* * *

_Flashback_

_Erik re-read the letter his adversary had so carefully left for him to find. He never imagined Jules Giry to be an inventive man, but he proved himself so by his latest actions in Erik's life._

_He had taken Ann. He had gotten her pregnant. He was admired for his fine looks and large bill-fold. All that could have been sheer luck. But to place a well written note in The Phantom's own box, on his very own seat, without _anyone _seeing, showed at least a little talent._

_Erik could respect that._

_But what was in the letter left a small smile on his face as well._

_**VVV**_

_**Monsieur Erik**_

_**Yes, I know your name. Ann admitted it to me when I confronted her about you.**_

_**I know who you are and where you came from. And I know, as you do, that it would break her heart if anything were to happen to you. I even find myself hoping you are not discovered in your little hiding place; foolish though that may be.**_

**_I was not at all surprised by your letter. In fact, I would have been surprise had you _not_ sent one. Know, Monsieur, that I will hold you to it. And that I will reciprocate the same, should YOU ever make Ann cry… _Again**

_**I hope we have reached an understanding. I will keep your letter as I keep all my correspondence, and will be insulted if I find you will not do me the same curtesy.**_

_**Yours Etc,**_

_**Jules Giry**_

_**VVV**_

_End Flashback_

OOO

Days passed, and still he did not exit his room. Antoinette would leave him food outside. Sometimes she'd see him moving from the bedroom to the bathroom and back, but little else. Occasionally at night she would hear a wretched sob emanate from behind his door. All in all, life was relatively quiet.

That is, until one Tuesday morning…

Giry was standing in her kitchen, staring out the window in a daydream, when a soft sound made her spin around.

Erik stood in the doorway.

He looked, for the most part, quite back to normal, if not a little drawn. He bowed his head politely.

"Madame."

"Erik." She smiled cheerily. "What brings you out?"

He opened his mouth but stopped before anything came out. It seemed he couldn't quite meet her eye.

"I… uh… Just came for a drink."

"Of course."

She turned around to fetch a cup and used the opportunity to smile broadly. Giry knew full well he had a full pitcher of water in his room, and yet he had ventured forth! She was elated.

"Water? Or would you like to share a Sherry with me?"

"Actually, a Sherry might be nice."

She nodded and went to get it.

They sat, once more, at the kitchen table together and had a drink. It was so civilized that it was almost unnatural.

"So…"

He gave her a nervous, warning look. A 'not yet' look.

"I wrote back to Meg. Said I passed her letter on, but that she shouldn't expect a reply just yet. I've thought of telling her that you're staying with me."

"Rather you didn't…" he muttered.

"It would only be that Uncle Erik is visiting to keep me company. She worries about me. Can you believe it? Meg worrying about _me_!"

"She's a good girl."

"She is. And she's happy in Paris with Jammes."

There was silence.

"Erik?"

"Madame?"

"You haven't seen the rest of the house yet."

"No."

"Would you like the grand tour? You might find a room more to your liking than that little old guest room."

"That, uh… Of course. Please, do show me."

Giry stood, with a soft smile of encouragement and waited until he was ready to follow her.

They walked around her cottage, wandering into each room, not saying much at all.

They began at the kitchen, which seemed huge to Erik, considering how Antoinette was with cooking. From there, they went into the little foyer that was really the very front of the house. It was rather empty except for three doors (the front door, kitchen and hall) and a lovely little console table standing beside the open entrance to the sitting room. Now that he had the chance, Erik actually looked at the table. What was visible was beautifully made, with delicate cabriole legs. A large black sheet covered the top half, which he knew full well to be a pier glass; a mirror.

'Dearest Giry,' he mused. 'You really are _considerate _sometimes…'

The sitting and dining rooms themselves were combined in one large space. On one wall was a great fireplace, and in front of that sat two chaise lounges and a heavy gentleman's armchair. The dining room was rather small, with just the usual settings and sideboard. It was obviously unused. Giry waved toward a door past the modest table.

"You know that leads to Jules' study and my bedroom. Shall we look back through the hall?"

He nodded and followed her once more to the hallway that contained the doors to his room and the bathroom. There were three other doors as well, all closed, that he had yet to enter. They started at the front.

The first was a bright and cheerful room, full of toys, with a large bassinet against one wall and a small bed against the other.

"This was Meg's room when we were here. I always loved it. Next door is the School Room. I'm afraid it never got used. She was still too young to need it when Jules… Well, anyway… It's full of books and interesting things I'm sure. I let him amuse himself with all that. If you want to use anything in there, feel free to take it. Would all go to waste otherwise."

The last door was only a small cupboard under the staircase. That being all for Ann to show really, she meant to lead him back to the entranceway but his eyes were immediately drawn to the stairs themselves, tucked away at the back of the hall.

"What's up there?"

"Oh that… It was an attic once, but Jules turned it into another room. It's huge actually. Would you like to see it?"

He nodded, trance-like.

"I'll just find the right key."

Erik was already migrating to the stairs.

At the top was a door; locked. It took Giry a minute or two to find the said key and jingle it in the lock. A clunk, a creak, and they were in.

"Hmmm… I shall have to get someone to look at that door one day…" She mumbled absentmindedly while Erik floated into the room. "Have a look if you like. I might go make a cup of tea."

With a knowing grin, Antoinette left the spellbound man to wander. Erik looked around wide-eyed.

It was a large space. As large as the first cavern he used to reside in. There were two great, inset windows, both with deep window seats. A small door directly to his right held the water tank for the bathroom below. At the far end, on the left wall, was a bed and a few trunks covered with sheets. It also had an old piano and some gigantic thing against the back wall, hidden by a dust cloth.

He moved around the room… inspected the bed fleetingly… kicked a piece of loose wood aside… ran his fingers across the top of the piano like a lover… and finally turned back to the giant thing that caught his attention like an insect to firelight. He was intrigued.

Stepping up to it with a reverence and trembling hand, Erik wrapped his fingers around the cloth and pulled. Dust flew, the thick fabric fluttered down and grey-green eyes looked up in awe.

A bookshelf, darkly and ornately carved, loomed over him. Its image could have been pulled straight from his very soul or deepest dreams. It had four sections forming the upper part and three small cupboards in the bottom half. Erik, despite being a tall enough man, could only have just reached the top shelf, on his toes! It was beautiful and darkly Gothic. It was forbidding yet welcoming. It was comforting. It was filled with every book on every topic his mesmerized mind could think of at the time. And if it wasn't, it unconditionally _begged _to be.

Erik turned in a circle to survey the room one more time and heard himself whisper in the shadow of the Beast.

"I'm home…"

OOO

Some time later Erik walked back to the sitting room where Antoinette sat, curled up like the petite woman that she was on the armchair, staring at the fireplace and clutching something to her breast.

He fell onto the edge of the Chaise beside her.

"Giry, that room… the attic. I thought…"

"It's yours…" she whispered and brought a hand up to wipe at the stream of tears he now noticed were flowing steadily from her swollen eyes. "It's been yours since before Meg was born…"

He was suddenly confused.

"What?"

She spoke again, not daring to look at the man she'd known since childhood.

"I begged him. I didn't need to but I did. He was always so kind and understanding… I told him about you, that you needed people who would understand and care for you. I said you were a genius and so very talented with music. He laughed. Not at you, at me. Said I looked like a love stuck schoolgirl, swooning over a brilliant new teacher. Perhaps he was right… But in the end he agreed. Said he would even ask you himself. We would all move here to the country. I would raise Meg and he would work. You could study and write and compose. Get published…

"So we prepared that room for you. Took up his Mother's old piano; couldn't afford a new one then. Somehow lugged up that horrid bookshelf. I knew you'd love it as soon as you saw it. Great frightening thing; how could you not? We picked out books you might enjoy, cleared out all the old boxes… It was almost like we were preparing for _two _children to enter our lives and not one. I was so in love with the idea!

"Then we had an argument… Do you remember? You scared me that night. Told me to go away and never come back. You were so mad! I thought you'd never forgive me!"

She wiped her eyes again and looked down at the photo she held. Jules holding tiny little Meg.

"Only got worse after that. You were more withdrawn and Jules' health was deteriorating. I felt like I had this perfect new born baby girl but at the cost of the two most important men in my life. Everything was slipping out of my hands. I had to go back to working as the Ballet Mistress. The Ghost started sending letters. Meg began to walk. Jules was barely getting out of the house anymore. And this place…"

She looked around her fondly, sadly…

"This place, so full of dreams and hopes was all but forgotten."

There was a pause.

"I'm sorry… I ruined your life didn't I?"

"No Erik! Not at all! You brought adventure to a young girl who never dreamed she could have such."

"What happened to us Ann?"

Giry turned and looked at her oldest friend.

"We grew up…"


	12. Meg's Interlude

I would like to put out a little apology for the lateness of this. I have been extremely busy with study etc. However, this is the first part of a two part interlude in this story (Just to break it up as there will be a little jump forward afterwards) beginning with Meg... And as always, I begin with my beloved flashback :)

* * *

_Meg was crying in the black hallway when she heard the voice. She was only 6 years old but she already knew full well whose voice it was._

"_Meg Giry, what the Devil are you crying about? Have you no respect for the silence of my halls?"_

_She whimpered. She really was scared of the Ghost. The older girls had told her awful stories about what he did and her Mama always warned her to be careful where she went when she explored around the Opera House._

"_Monsieur, forgive me please! I am lost."_

"_Lost?… How?"_

"_I came looking for my Mama but my candle went out and now I am lost!"_

_Meg was distressed beyond believe! What if he killed her? What if he kidnapped her and took her down to Hell!_

"_Please don't hurt me Monsieur Ghost!"_

_A chuckle sounded._

"_Close your eyes child. And whatever you do, do not open them."_

_Meg was terrified but she complied with his wishes. It would be foolish not to. All was silent for a long time and then the most amazing thing happened._

_Two strong arms scooped her up and held her to a warm chest. Frightened, and yet so strangely soothed by the comfort of the obviously masculine embrace, Meg kept her little eyes tight shut. They moved, the Ghost and her, until she found herself being set down in something big and soft. Cosy warmth surrounded her, as did a familiar smell. The arms receded, the presence left, and the ethereal voice spoke again from behind the walls._

"_Don't go wandering out at night without a light again Meg Giry. I may not be in such a good mood next time…"_

_She finally dared to open her eyes._

_Meg was back in her bed._

OOO

Meg Giry worried about her loved ones. She wasn't normally a worrier. She was normally quite a free spirited girl with few concerns in life save her Ballet practice and who was caught sneaking around with whom. However, the recent events in her life had given her a vastly different perspective on things. She tried for long hours to settle all this in her mind but nothing seemed to resolve itself beyond quiet contemplation of the conundrum. Thing just were as they were and she tried to the best of her ability to accept that.

Her major musings were threefold.

Firstly; materiel life didn't matter. She had always believed this but with the loss of the Opera House, much of the interior of the theatre decimated in one horrible night, it was really brought home. How could she put such stock and store in _things_ when they were so easily destroyed?

Secondly; family _does _matter. Yes, it was true, she had wanted to go 'down there' with her Mama and Raoul to help her friend Christine. But there was another reason for Meg to wish to accompany them to the cellars that night. She didn't want to leave her Mother. She knew her Mama has always known more then she let on, and the moment she offered to take the Vicompt to the Phantom's lair Meg _would not _let her go alone. Mme Giry knew something, something she was about to reveal, and Meg couldn't bear the thought of her dear Mama ending up like that awful Joseph Buquet! But her Mother told her to stay, so she did the next best thing she could think of; she lead the others though the mirror, down to his home. It was to protect her Mother.

Thirdly… Things are not always as clear as we would like them to be. Nothing was black and white in Meg's world anymore. Now there was a shade of terrible, confusing, heart wrenching Grey and it took the shape of man in a white mask…

The 'Phantom of the Opera' or Christine's 'Angel of Music'?

Vicious Killer or Passionate Lover?

Musical Genius or Insane Criminal?

Hideous Monster or Piteously Afflicted Man?

Opera Ghost? Or perhaps simply… Meg's Uncle Erik.

Yes, she knew now. She'd realised when she wandered around his lair. An almost painful feeling of knowing settled in her belly as she observed the beautiful illustrations of Christine and read the loving notations made under them. It was _his _handwriting. Different from O.G.'s, which was always affected and flamboyant; mocking. This was simply the common writing of an ordinary, and extremely extra-ordinary, man. The man who always sent her a present on her birthday. The man who helped her Mama afford her tuition for private lessons, who taught her how to read English and who composed her a lullaby. The man who always ended his encouraging and devoted letters as 'Your Uncle Erik'… There was nothing pretentious or false in that.

This man, her Godfather, her childhood hero… The Phantom.

Poor Meg. How she missed his advice now. How she felt for him. How she wished she could help him find his way! How very like her Mother she was…

It was clear to her now how truly passionately he had loved Christine. He had revealed as much in his last few letters that he had deeply fallen for this young woman he would not name.

'Meg, when you are old enough you will learn how gloriously painful it feels to fall in love… I adore her from afar. She cannot know me. I couldn't live with her disappointment… I'm an older man Meg. She is barely a woman yet… If a man 19 years your senior propositions you, I swear I'll send you away to a monastery!'

How funny those words seemed to her now as she re-read them over. And how awfully confused she felt about her own encouragements back to him. She had outright told him to just tell the girl and not hide his feelings away forever. Oh, if only she'd known!

Meg wasn't sure what to do. She didn't know how to react to it all. She wished she could just forget it all and go back to the way things were long ago. But perhaps, just for a little while, she could pretend. There was nothing wrong in pretending now and then. And maybe, in pretending, she could bring a little healing too.

Meg picked up a sheet of paper and pen and began to write. She spoke quietly as she wrote, almost chuckling at the irony of her words.

"Dear Uncle Erik. You won't believe what happened. There was a fire at the Opera House…"


	13. Christine and Raoul's Interlude

Okay. Second Interlude to break the story up. I should probably slip a wee disclaimer in here. I do not own Phantom of the Opera in the slightest. However, I do have the book and the movies and the 8 inch figures :P I love my Eriks, hehehe

I have stated in the past (I think) that I wanted Christine and Raoul happily married in this fic, as you will get a little glimpse of here. Lots of plain dialogue here. Trying to give the image of a discussion in the dark that, from experiance, plenty of young married couples have. Hehe... Remember this. I'll use it again later ;)

A shout out to my Beta. HI! And a great thank you to all who review. It really is appreciated, even when I don't answer (Sorry bout that). Next chap will be back to Ann and Erik. I promise I'm working on it! And it will start going down the road my Muse wants me to take.

* * *

Together in a large luxurious bed, the young newlyweds attempted to sleep. Christine shook Raoul's shoulder gently. He took a deep, tired breath to try and wake himself a little. 

"Mmm… Christine? What is it?"

"Raoul…" her small voice sounded sad. "I was thinking… Do you ever wonder where he is?"

Now he was fully awake.

"… Every day. Why do you ask?"

"Do you suppose he got out alright?"

"Christine, you really shouldn't torment yourself with this."

"I know but I can't help it! I can't help feeling responsible!"

He chuckled and kissed her softly.

"That's what I love about you Christine De Chagny. You can feel guilty for hurting the feelings of a murderer."

"Please don't talk about him like that Raoul…"

"Darling, I know it hurts you but you know it's true. And I don't want you to worry yourself on it anymore. He can't hurt either of us now."

There was a long silent pause.

"Christine?"

"Yes?"

He sighed.

"I'm sure he is just fine. The man is nothing if not resilient; trust me on that."

"Thank you Raoul…"

"Go to sleep now Christine. You need your rest."

"I know… I am sleeping better now."

"I'm glad to hear it."

Another long pause as husband and wife got comfortable in their bed again.

"I think I shall write to Madame Giry tomorrow."

Raoul yawned.

"If you wish…"

"I missed her so much at the wedding."

"I know Dear. But it couldn't be helped."

"Meg will have the address I think."

"I'm sure… Goodnight Christine."

"Raoul?"

"Yes?"

"… Are you really very tired?"

Suddenly, the Vicompt discovered, he wasn't.


	14. Dissatisfaction

A/N This Chapter is dedicated to a tough lady, my Great-Grandmother Lillian. She had quite the rebellious streak in a difficult time and life and I admire her strength. Also to all the people out there who work hard to care for their families, even if it's 'just' as a house wife/husband.

So now we get back to Ann and Erik. Please remember that a little time has passed since the last chap. Hope you enjoy it. I'd beg you to review but I don't beg… Much. PLEASE! Your opinions, insights and critiques are greatly valued and cheer me up after bad days at study.

One last thought. You may notice that I have quite a few little flashback moments. I like writing these, especially when they give insight into characters personalities or why they do what they do. And because of that I have a couple of extended flashbacks that simply won't fit into this well. I would like your opinion; should I post these separately as companion one-shots? _Please _let me know in a review if this is a good/bad/tragic/fantastic idea.

* * *

_Flashback_

"_So you will take the job?"_

"_If you think I should."_

"_Me? What about your precious Jules?"_

"_Please Erik… Must you always be so…?"_

_He sighed._

"_Sorry."_

"_Never mind… Well, what _do_ you think?__"_

"_I think you're going to have a lot of work to do, getting those pathetic twits to dance half decent… You'll be a fine Ballet Mistress, Madame."_

_Giry smiled._

"_I certainly hope so."_

_End Flashback _

Erik was a very adaptable person, even as a child. And now he was acclimatising himself to living in such close quarters to another being. All in all Ann couldn't complain and nor could Erik. (But as we know, _couldn__'t_ never stopped him before.)

It had been a month since they first came to the cottage and Ann settled herself into a sort of schedule. She liked order, it helped her maintain her sanity in light of her less then orthodox companion. Order wasn't necessarily his strong point.

And neither was getting out at the moment. He sat in his room and read or stared out the window for hours, thinking and brooding. Giry could do nothing to encourage him outside. He would just snarl at her to leave him alone. So she did. No point in arguing.

But Erik really _had _started to settle since moving into his new room, even if he didn't want to admit it. He only came out when he needed to. He was polite to Ann, as much as ever, and would only occasionally snap harshly. Mostly he'd just become broody again and retreat to his attic. She took this in her stride, knowing that it was just his personality. He was a naturally moody person.

They had a somewhat strange relationship now. Much the same as when they were young. It was a tentative truce. Both agreed wordlessly to try to avoid bothering the other, and only help when it was necessary. Nothing was assumed because that was just too dangerous.

Antoinette was regularly occupied with house work. She did all she could to stay busy, to stay sane. But unfortunately she knew she needed more. She needed an income sooner or later. What little money she had would not last forever and she would eventually have to find work. On her last trip into the nearby village, where she did her shopping, she had enquired about employment for a Dance Mistress. There was a possibility. One rich family, who had an estate not two hours ride from her own little cottage, had three daughters. And they all wanted to learn ballet. It wasn't much, but it was _something_. Besides, dancing would always be her passion.

She had yet to tell the ex-Phantom about this little venture. And she had no idea how he would react to it. Erik had always encouraged her in her career, saying she was a skilled teacher and heavenly Ballerina. But those days were well and truly behind them. Besides a begrudging 'thank you' now and then, he'd not really spoken a _kind _word to her since the night when she'd admitted the truth about the house and Jules.

Jules…

"If only you were here. You would know what to do." She had found herself whispering on more then one occasion.

But he wasn't. All Madame Giry had was a Daughter too swiftly becoming a young woman, and _Erik_. Hang it all, would she never have any _help?_!

She was getting frustrated and so made a decision. They were going to have a talk…

"Erik. I have prepared dinner." she called up the stairs. No reply came. Antoinette just rolled her eyes and went back to her kitchen to eat. If he didn't come down, he didn't come down. Ah, but there were his steady footsteps approaching now.

"Do you want a glass of wine?"

"Do you have anything remotely resembling decent?"

Madame Giry grit her teeth. So he was in _that _mood again.

"That depends. Do you deserve anything decent or should I just give as I get?"

"I beg your pardon, Madame? I'm not sure I understand."

"Are you going to start acting like something better then an oversized infant or is this as mature as you can manage?"

He calmly cocked an eyebrow at her and sat in his place at the table.

"I hope the meal is to your satisfaction."

He muttered something in another language.

"Beg pardon?"

"Nothing."

Ann picked at her plate for a minute, building up a little courage.

"Erik…?"

"What?"

"I have something to tell you…"

He looked up at her, face a blank expression, waiting for her to continue.

"I have accepted employment."

He just stared.

"It isn't far. And only a few days a week. I'll be teaching some girls. Their parents are quite wealthy and are happy to pay for private lessons…"

Erik returned to his meal.

"And?"

"_And_… while this is good, I may have a little trouble keeping up with the house work."

"Can't be that hard…."

Giry set her fork down and spoke firmly to him.

"I assure you, it is harder then it looks. This cottage is not tiny, and I am doing it all on my own."

He raised his eyes.

"Correct me if I am wrong, but I did offer to do repairs on the house and stables."

"But you haven't done it yet an-"

"And besides, you've done fine on your own before."

She took a deep breath.

"_Erik_… Let me put this as simply as possible. I would like help. _Regularly_."

"With?"

"With cleaning and cooking and general upkeep. I am run off my feet as it is!"

"What work is there to do honestly Giry? It's not like I'm expecting you to impress me. And we don't use all the rooms."

"What work? What work!"

Antoinette was now on her high horse! This had always been a source of tension for her. Men just never seemed to fully understand what it meant to keep a house in order.

"I'll tell you what work _Monsieur_! Dusting. Baking. Washing clothes. Cleaning the kitchen and the pots. Cleaning the bathroom. Pumping the water. Bringing in the wood for the fire. Chopping the wood for the fire. Lighting the fires! Cooking. Tending the gardens. Washing windows and curtains. Changing bed linen. Checking all the oil lamps. Washing all the floors. Buying all the food. Putting up with annoying house guest's attitudes! A hell of a lot more work then you may think SIR!"

She huffed and sat back in her chair.

Erik looked at her, clearly a little stunned.

"Oh."

"Oh _indeed_."

"Well… If you are going out to work then it won't get as messy will it? You won't have as much to clean," he reasoned, staring again at his plate, and poking at his meal as though he thought it might still be living. Giry jumped up out of her seat.

"Right! I suppose I should have expected that…" She dumped her plate in the sink and promptly snatched Erik's from under his nose.

"Hey!"

"Oh for goodness sake, you weren't eating it anyway!" She snarled at him.

Erik sighed and spoke in a soft, placating voice.

"Madame?"

"_What?_!"

"What is wrong?"

"Nothing!" Antoinette continued storming about the kitchen, tidying and fussing, until he caught her sleeve.

"Ann!"

Giry rounded on him, fully determined to give him another piece of her mind, but was silenced by the look in his eyes. He was trying and that was saying a lot. She sat down again.

"Oh, Erik, it is just… just so hard sometimes…"

"What is?"

"Being here! It is not that I don't love being home again, it's just that…" Tears were swelling up in her eyes. "I miss Meg! My little girl needs me! She must! She is all alone in Paris and I can't be there!"

Erik sighed again. Hesitantly, and completely unsure he was even doing the right thing, he reached out and took her hand. Giry lifted her eyes to his, gratitude shining in them.

"I'm sorry Madame. It is my fault you are not with her now."

"No. No, Dear. I'm sorry." She wiped her cheeks with a hanky that mysteriously appeared in his hand. "I shouldn't be so worried."

"No you shouldn't. Meg is a very strong girl. She take's after you… She will be fine on her own. You'll see."

"I feel so overwhelmed by everything that has been happening. It's all so much!"

"I know… Plus, as you say, you have the joy of putting up with me everyday."

She chuckled.

"That I don't mind so much."

He was genuinely surprised.

"Really?"

"Of course." She smiled warmly at him. "You will always be my friend Erik."

He felt a familiar lump develop in his throat. Blast! He'd fought that off for almost a whole week!

"Thank you."

They shared a comfortably quiet moment.

"Oh, I _am _sorry. I must look like such a silly old woman!" Giry finally mumbled.

"Nonsense… You aren't old."

She rolled her eyes and smacked at his hand playfully.

Erik was hit with a sudden burst of inspiration. She was a woman, and from the little he'd learnt about women over the years he knew that there was one thing that worked wonders.

"Listen Giry… Why don't you take a break tomorrow? Go into town and… buy yourself something."

She finished tidying her face then looked at him, puzzled at his sudden generous thought. He could see the sparkle that had swiftly lit in her eye become disappointed almost as quickly.

"But I don't have money to waste on buying useless things."

Ha! That he could deal with too. This plan to appease her might just work.

"_I _do."

"I am _not _going to take your money Erik."

"And I am not asking you to… I'm telling you. Tomorrow you are to go to town, I'll provide the francs, and buy yourself something. Consider it… Rent."

She raised an eyebrow at him and smirked.

"Rent?"

He huffed. Did she _have_ to make it hard?

"Yes. Rent."

"For what!"

"Use of the attic… Don't even think of saying no Madame, I won't accept it. And you of all people should know the Ghost always gets what he demands."

Antoinette smiled gratefully at him.

"Very well, Monsieur Le Phantom… Thank you."

* * *

Support the 'Feed the Author's Muse' foundation; review today! 


	15. Revolution

I dedicate one line of this to my husband who will know it the second he reads it. I couldn't resist putting it in. I'm know, I'm a sad little person.

The rest is dedicated to MmeGiry! HAPPY BIRTHDAY HUN! Hope you've had a great day!

And I also hope you wonderful readers will enjoy this chapter. Story is really starting to get where I want it now. And as I'm on holidays for 2 more weeks I should be able to get a heap written. Please do review, it does encourage my muse. BTW, I do not own Phantom of the Opera.

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Erik began to make himself a new lair. Only this one looked down on the world rather then up to it. He liked the difference. 

The large space that was set aside for him years ago didn't take long to be changed to suit his purposes. The piano was shifted (he hadn't really thought of playing it yet) and placed opposite the bed. The bed itself was still in the process of being redesigned and rebuilt to his own preferences. Admittedly he was being lazy with it but why should he rush the job and end up displeased with the outcome? Better to go slow and enjoy it. And he was a firm believer in 'measure twice, cut once'. After all, little mistakes sometimes meant large solutions.

A rug he'd found covered the floor and Giry had allowed him to take up a small writing desk. Well, she didn't argue over its disappearance anyway. His room was sparse in as far as furniture went but he didn't need much. Erik was almost contented with it. Almost; he could never really be content with anything anymore.

The bookshelf, that almost living being in whose presence he spent hours, was cleaned, repaired and restacked. Each day he would pull out a new book and flick through the pages. Most he had read, but occasionally one would crop up that would catch his interest for a good while. Architecture, medical journals, world history… He was familiar with all those. There were a few novels in German he'd look at later, and a couple of stories by some English writers that _might _be interesting. The collection of Poe's books and Hugo's most recent novel sat at his bedside. A morbid fascination perhaps but he enjoyed wallowing in their wonderfully written words. Words were a balm that eased the soul when there was no beauty to look at. He'd learnt that early in life.

Erik sat at his desk and pondered this. He'd always wondered where his fascination for words and learning came from. He had read once that people were the way they were because of their parents. If this was so it meant that one of his parents must have been intelligent. But how the devil was he ever supposed to know? It wasn't like his mother left a forwarding address when she abandoned him as a child; not that he would ever go looking for the Harpy.

Erik remembered those days but rarely. He preferred, to be honest, to look no further into his past then when he first started to 'haunt' the Opera House. Those were days of fun and mischief that he enjoyed reminiscing over. He was still very young then, probably still a teen. He didn't know his own age for sure. A child doesn't remember how old they are if they're never told after all. But he was certainly post-pubescent when he first started writing notes and dropping scenery on people's heads. No one was ever really hurt unless they'd done something particular to displease him. He would run around in the dark corners of the House and hear all the gossip. There were weak parts of the walls by the dressing rooms that were made for eavesdropping, though he never told Ann and he _never_ used them to watch the girls. He developed his skills of ventriloquism that he'd picked up from who knew where and became very good at putting on a daunting, ghostly voice. And then that moment of pure bliss, when some fool woman caught him out moving through the halls and instead of screaming she crossed herself and ran, proclaiming to all that she had seen "The Phantom". Erik had never felt such a sense of power as he did in moments like that one. And he enjoyed power.

But his life did extend further back. Much further back then those moments of adolescent pranks and monkey business. Further back to the time that gave him his thirst for control.

His time with _them_.

_They_ didn't deserve a name, didn't deserve recognition, in his opinion. A filthy race with no value in the world other then to dirty its surface. When Erik read Hugo's tale of the Hunchback, amidst the tears that blurred the page, he found a strange irony in the tale. A little too strange and close to home for his liking and he vowed never to read it again; though admittedly that wasn't one of his best kept vows. _They_ were a bane to his world. Something that he wished wiped from existence. And yet he couldn't deny that he was strong for having been through it. And weak.

He hated being weak.

He hated them.

And yet they made up so much of who he was.

Erik needed control, as he saw it, to stay sane. When he felt that he had lost it a part of him panicked and he just couldn't handle that. When he fell in love with Christine, something inside him told him that love equated to a loss of power and he didn't want that. So he tried to manipulate his love. If he could control Christine, he could control his own feelings of love and that was a good thing. The only thing, in the entire world, that he would ever willingly give up his power to was the music, because he knew that at the end of the day the music would willingly give it back with interest.

_They_ didn't have music.

Erik growled and pounded the desktop with his fist. What was with him today? It was like every thought was dragging him back to his past, right back to his childhood. A place he certainly didn't want to be. He shuddered. Did the room suddenly get colder? Erik stood and grabbed the blanket off his bed, wrapping it tightly around his shoulders. That was better.

He forced his mind to other things. Things totally within his control. He thought of his latest project, the bed. He wondered where he might get more wood for it if he ran out. He thought about any carvings he'd make on the backboard. He thought of anything and everything to make him forget _them_.

It didn't work.

Erik climbed into that same bed and curled himself into a protective ball. He stayed that way for a long time, gritting his teeth occasionally and wincing as one memory or another filtered back through his mind. He tried to think of his music but that brought on memories of Christine and they almost hurt more. So he wallowed, slowly sunk into a pit of reminiscing over things so far beyond his control it was maddening. What kind of beasts do that to a child? What monsters treat the completely helpless like that? _They_ did. They did it to him. And he would never forgive any of them.


	16. Vision

Goodness! You reviewers certainly know how to kick an author up the behind! Here you have it, the update I've feared. You'll see why. Intro of new character. Becci, please don't kill me, think of the Bean! Please do review if you so wish :)

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_

_Ann didn't know why she was there. She wasn't even sure why she'd done what she did. The boy, the Devil's Child, had escaped by himself really and could well have been better off on the run without her. He was a killer, probably insane and she shouldn't have been anywhere near him. At least, that's what people would have told her. But then again, she wasn't one to care too much for what others thought. She carried down the blanket that she'd wrapped a few things in and cleared her throat pointedly when she got close enough._

_Erik was living in a small cavern right down in the very lowest parts of the Opera House. He didn't have much just then, only what Ann could sneak away, which wasn't a lot. He still wore light clothes that didn't fit and weren't too warm but the way his eyes lit up when he was given them… It made Ann angry. No one should have lived as he did. He had a large pile of blankets as a bed for now and an old box served as a table. This little world that they were slowly building for him was dark and cold but the warmth of their secret companionship made it completely bearable._

"_Erik?"_

_Ann stepped around the corner and just stopped to watch._

_He was working steadily at carving a long thin piece of wood. Ann couldn't help but admire his dedication. Not only had he created the flute from scratch to begin with but now he was whittling in tiny pictures into the side. When he finally looked up, Erik grinned at her. Ann loved seeing that grin. It had taken four months for her to draw it out._

"_Nearly finished."_

"_It's beautiful. Will you play it for me?"_

"_No. Not yet. Not til it's done."_

"_But it's mostly finished. Oh, do play it for me. Please?"_

_He rolled his eyes at her and lifted the instrument to his lips, playing out just a few simple notes._

"_There. Happy?"_

_Ann wasn't sure why she did it. She might never know what prompted her to take this fugitive boy in and care for him. But in that moment she knew why she was _there_ and that was enough._

…

Giry was on her shopping trip. It wasn't a terribly different trip to every other one she had made to the village nearby her home but at least this time her mind wasn't stuck on negative thoughts. In fact, she was decidedly cheerful really. Erik was slowly becoming easier with her, their chat the day before proved that. And now she was going shopping. Things where looking up.

As she was making her towards the bakers she heard quite a lively tune coming from behind a small gathering crowd. She wandered closer, intrigued. The onlookers were apparently watching a young woman dance while an elderly gentleman played a violin.

The girl was barefoot and danced on a large square mat. She bore the marks of poverty; tatty clothes and a bag for money before her. But she wasn't without talent or beauty. No, she could have been quite pretty, were she dressed better, with shoulder length dark hair and smooth tan skin. And her dancing was skilled for mere improvisation. It was obvious she'd never been trained but the potential was there. She kept her eyes closed throughout the song, focussing solely on the motions of her body. They were fluid and graceful. Such a contrast to the clothes on her back. Giry found herself pondering, 'those who've lived an ugly life latch onto whatever beauty they can when they find it…'

The song ended. Her dance finished. The crowd contributed their coins and while the girl sat to pull on her shoes again, Antoinette made her way to the front.

Mostly alone with the girl now (the violinist had bowed and left) Giry dropped in her own two coins, Erik's coins, and addressed her.

"Mademoiselle, that was lovely dancing. If I may say, you have a natural talent."

"Thank you, Madame." She smiled and turned her face toward Giry. "It is kind of you to say."

The elder woman marvelled at the girl's deep brown eyes. They reminded her of Erik's a little. So expressive!

And unfocussed…

Antoinette's breath caught in her throat.

* * *

As an author there comes a point where you write something you know not everyone is going to like. So I give warning here that if you don't like this, I'm sorry. But I won't really appreciate getting crap about it. I really wanted to explore this idea. Please don't worry that this is going to become a silly 'lets fall madly in love' story. I couldn't do that to Erik. My muse won't let me. So I hope you will give me a little leeway to play with this story as it's going. 


	17. Invitation

The girl cocked her head to one side.

"Are you alright Madame?"

"Yes!… Yes, I'm fine. I just didn't realise… I'm sorry."

She seemed confused for a moment, then it dawned on her and she laughed.

"You mean my…?" the girl pointed to her eyes.

"Yes. I'm sorry. I couldn't tell while you were dancing."

"Not many can. That's the idea… I need money Madame, not pity."

Giry smirked. '_And brutally honest too_.' She had a thought. Well, actually, she continued a thought that had been slowly growing for some time.

"Mademoiselle, would you share a lunch with me?"

"I… Beg pardon Madame?" Again she was confused.

"I would love to speak with you more. Would you share a lunch with me? There is a Café not far from here."

The girl reached out and found her bag. Feeling inside a moment she said,

"I may be able to afford that."

"Excellent! I shall enjoy the company. Would you like to go now?"

"If you wish Madame. I just need to pack up."

"Of course… May I ask, how did you know to call me Madame?"

She chuckled as she rolled up her mat and gathered her meagre possessions.

"I didn't. I just guessed. People usually don't have the heart to tell me I'm wrong."

Kicking round on the ground the young woman found a large smooth stick that might have once been a strong sapling. Gripping it firmly in her left hand she stood waiting.

"Might I take your arm Madame? I don't know the way."

"Oh, yes, of course."

Giry placed her forearm under the girl's outstretched hand and led her to the Café.

…

Coffee, tea and a croissant later, the ladies were fairly acquainted and found they well enjoyed the other's company. It is strange that sometimes in life certain people are just naturally able to befriend each other, while others may take years. For Ann and Faye it was the former.

"So, Mademoiselle Faye, you have no home at all?"

"I stay where I can. 'A house doesn't always make a home', as my mother would say. She came from around here I believe. I do miss her sometimes."

"And your father?"

"I do not miss," she stated with finality.

Giry nodded and pondered that. Family wasn't always easy to live with. Even distant _cousins_. She sighed.

"I miss my daughter, Meg. It has been well over a month now and she is still with friends in Paris."

"It must be hard for you."

"Not as hard as keeping that old house running. Which reminds me why I asked you here."

"Ulterior motives, Madame?"

She chuckled.

"Somewhat…" Giry leaned forward eagerly. "Faye, would you consider taking on employment?"

"Employment?" She was astounded.

"Yes. It seems to me that we are two woman in mutual need. You of a better income and warm bed. And I of another hand around the house. In short, Mademoiselle Faye, I need a maid, not to mention some female companionship. I've been caring for Ballet Rats for over fifteen years and lacking a woman to talk to is driving me mad. Would you at least consider it?"

"But Madame… I'm blind! Why would you ask me of all people!"

"What does it matter if you are blind? And only _mostly_, as you say. You seem perfectly capable to me. Can you clean dishes?"

"I suppose-"

"And can you cook?"

"Enough for myself but-"

"Wash clothes?"

"Well, yes but-"

"Then that is all I ask! I simply cannot do all these things myself and so just need an extra hand… I like you Faye. You're a charming young woman. And I am in earnest in offering this to you. I have a bedroom going to waste and a house I cannot keep. Will you consider being my housemaid?"

Faye thought for a moment. She seemed torn.

"What of your cousin Madame?"

"Oh, what _of_ him? He'll stay out of your way."

"What if he finds the idea disagreeable?"

"It is not his house… I will pay you whatever you think is fair as well."

A thought seemed to brighten her. Just a little but it was enough.

"Well… There is something you could do but… No, it's silly."

"What? If it will convince you I'm sure it can be arranged."

Faye pondered a minute more.

"Madame… You said you were the Ballet Mistress at the Opera House."

"True."

"I would… I would love to learn to dance. Properly. Could you teach me?"

Antoinette laughed.

"Is that all? You would work for Ballet lessons!"

Faye nodded enthusiastically.

"Well, at least, I would _try_. I cannot guarantee that I will be able to do as you wish Madame."

"Never you mind that now my Dear. I believe we have an agreement. I would be delighted to teach you Faye, although it will be a challenge. And you will be my maid."

The woman sighed and Giry worried again. Was she changing her mind.

"Oh, Madame, I really am not sure this would work. You do not know how difficult it can be to live with me."

Ann thought quickly. She'd heard this argument before and had bested it. Surely she could again.

"Perhaps then it would ease your mind if we try it only temporarily. Would you rather that? We could, let's say, test ourselves for a month and then, if it isn't working, we shall discuss it again. Does that sound better?"

It was a long silent moment in which Mademoiselle Faye thought. The seconds seemed to tick by for Giry until…

"Yes. I will do it… At least, I will try."

"Excellent! Will you come to the house tomorrow?"

"Of course."

"Do you have more possessions then these? More clothes?"

"Some. One more bag."

"Alright then. I will arrange a carriage to meet you and bring you to the cottage."

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I know this chapter rushed by. I wanted the interaction between Faye and Giry to go pretty quick. Don't worry, it will make sense later. 


	18. No Discussion

'What was I thinking? I must be going insane! He's going to kill me. Just wrap that rope around my neck and _snap_! Goodbye Madame!'

Ann Giry was pacing in her room furiously. She was pacing _furiously_ because she was simply furious at herself. She'd gone and done something rash again. Oh, why did she always seem to be able to get herself in such trouble? And why did she keep taking in strays as she did? No doubt there would be a puppy on her door step tomorrow that would have a bedroom of its own by the next day. That seemed to be her luck these days. Yes, Ann had gone mad. There was no other explanation.

Giry seemed to simply have a way with people and it wasn't necessarily a good one. When she had first seen Faye dancing she had entertained the idea that the girl might be suitable to ask about taking on the job of housemaid. She knew the risks involved with hiring such but really, she didn't have many other options that she could see. The house needed caring for, she wouldn't be there to do it and Heaven above knew that Erik would never lift a finger. So yes, Ann had thought about asking the sweet looking young dancer about it. And then she found out. It seemed perfect. Oh, naturally it would make the work perhaps a little harder but surely not _that_ much. They had a blind man work at the Opera for many years and he was always a very studious person. Granted, she couldn't remember what he did exactly but still…

She stopped pacing when the door opened.

"Giry, what the hell is all this noise?!"

Ann spun around and glared at Erik. He was just standing in her doorway and staring at her, eyebrow raised enquiringly.

"What noise? And do not swear in my house."

He scoffed. It was like a barked laugh.

"I _do _apologise Madame. I didn't mean to _offend _your _sensitivities_." Erik said this very sarcastically but with no real malice. "Now would you mind kindly informing me as to why you are pounding around like a mad horse right under my bedroom where I am attempting to read?"

Now Giry smirked at him.

"Oh, I _am_ sorry to have interrupted your most unusual pastime Monsieur."

Erik just rolled his eyes. He grit his teeth and forced himself to ask a question that would normally never pass his lips.

"So am I to take it that you are feeling better?"

Giry sighed and nodded. Erik gave her a sceptical look.

"If I may, it doesn't look like it."

"In that case, you may not. I am feeling better Erik. Thank you for that. I did need the time. However, I find myself now in a rather awkward predicament." Giry flopped down on her bed, a little more inelegantly then she would usually allow, and looked up at him with a pout. "I'm afraid you aren't going to like this."

"When have I ever liked the predicaments you get me in?"

"What makes you think that _you_ are in this one?"

"Because you're nervous… I take pride in being the only person in existence that can make you truly nervous."

"You flatter yourself Monsieur."

"I'm the only one who will."

Giry tried to stop the small smile that teased her lips but Erik, as much as he could make her nervous, was also rather adept at causing a grin now and then.

"_I _would but you never believe me."

"Your flattery always has ulterior motives. _I don't trust you Ann Giry_."

"Oh, such sharp wit."

Erik narrowed his eyes.

"What are you up to?"

Ann blushed, bit her lip and chuckled nervously. Erik looked very unimpressed. It wasn't that she was scared what he would say or do, it was just hard to get the courage to actually say what she needed to then.

"Uh… Erik…"

"Yes?"

"Well… I seem to have… Hired a maid."

She waited and held her breath, knowing exactly what was coming from the totally blank expression on his face. Calm before the storm.

"WHAT?!"

Giry took a deep breath and tried her best to remain composed.

"Please don't start a yelling match about this Erik."

He narrowed his eyes dangerously at her. Funnily enough he looked _more_ malicious without the mask then with, she thought then.

"No." He declared.

"Pardon?"

"No. You will not hire a maid."

"It's too late Erik. It is already done."

"Well _undo it_."

Giry folded her arms across her chest sternly and mimicked his patented eyebrow raise.

"_No_."

They stared long and hard at each other and finally one conceded.

Erik backed down. He threw up his arms in frustration and fumed at her.

"Fine. Do that. Enjoy yourself and the company. Don't mind me at all."

He spun around and stalked away. Giry panicked. She knew that resolute look in his eyes. She'd seen it before, albeit many years ago. It struck a nerve.

"Erik? Where are you going?"

He ignored her and continued towards the stairs.

"Erik! Don't walk away from me!"

He just make a dismissive noise and kept storming. Ann got desperate.

"Don't even think about it young man!… Erik, listen to me!"

Erik took the stairs two at a time and Giry had to pull up her skirts an inch to follow quickly behind. At the top she contemplated just locking him in his room until he cooled down. But as he had a key, and a remarkable talent for unlocking things without one anyway, she didn't bother.

"Erik, will you just listen to me?!"

"GET OUT!"

"Erik, please! You don't understand."

He spun around to face her, a vicious look in his eyes.

"Oh? Don't I? Then pray, do explain it to me Madame because I'd love to know how you intend to hide your dirty little secret away from the world with a maid running around the bloody house!"

"She won't pay you any attention. She already knows you want your privacy and will leave you alone if you wish. And besides-"

"What are you talking about?! Giry, you're a fool. And I'm just as much a fool for ever having listened to you! I can't stay here with you!"

"Erik, please don't do this! I promise Faye won't ever tell anyone you're here!"

He stormed up to Ann and glared down into her face, his hot breath hitting her like a blast of pure rage.

"And when she screams Ann? What do you intend to do then?"

Ann looked up determinedly. She was getting just a little flustered by her dear ex-Phantom guest. She reached up and grabbed the collar of his waistcoat in her small fist, twisting it up and yanking him down forcefully to her eye level.

"She won't scream at you, you _infuriating whelp_, because she won't see you. She is blind!"

Ann failed to mention exactly how blind Mademoiselle Faye was. She didn't want him to get caught up in silly details like that. The point was that she wasn't going to notice the marks that Erik seemed to think were all people ever saw of him. And she certainly wouldn't be telling the Gendarme about Ann's 'dirty little secret' in the attic.

Erik just stood there, stunned for a minute, before he recovered himself and took a firm hold of Madame Giry's wrist. He didn't harm her but the warning squeeze he gave was more then enough to make her let go and send an apologetic look his way.

They just stood, both with mad thoughts running wildly through their heads, mostly wondering what the other was thinking, when Erik at last spoke. His voice was unsure and quite defensively mocking.

"Blind?... Well now, isn't that a cliché…"

"Erik, don't be sardonic."

"Well it is. What, you didn't think I never considered getting myself a nice little blind mistress over the years? Certainly would have made things a lot warmer occasionally."

"ERIK!"

And he was back to his snappy mood, glaring years off her life.

"Oh, do grow up _Madame_ Giry. I didn't think you for a prude."

"I am not."

"But you don't mind snapping at me for wishing myself a bit of female company."

"_That_ kind of company, yes. There is more to life then who you take to bed."

"Oh, believe me _Ann_, I know that."

She let out an angry huff.

"This is getting nowhere! I will not argue with you anymore Erik. I have hired Faye and you will not stop me. I like her. She is a charming young woman and I think, if you gave her a chance, you would like her too… Erik, think of it. Would it not be nice to have someone to talk to?"

"Not really."

"Why?"

Erik's eyes narrowed and his voice chilled.

"Because I too am sick of talking Ann. And I'm sick of you meddling in my life. Have your maid if you wish but do not expect me to be _pleasant_ to her. And certainly do not think that she will ever be welcome up here. If she does set one bloody blind foot in my room I will personally see that she finds her way back down the stairs in the swiftest possible fashion… Now, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like you to leave."


	19. Aggravation

Okay. Bit of an unintentional hiatus there. See, I'm kinda really pregnant and it tends to cut into your online life, hehe. But here's another little installment. Hope you enjoy.

* * *

Ann growled and stormed about and drank a glass of brandy. None of it helped.

Erik was driving her mad.

In the sitting room Giry snatched up a piece of paper and pen and took a long deep breath before beginning her letter.

**VVV**

**My dearest Daughter**

**Your Uncle Erik is driving me mad! I am sure that when you finally do visit you will wish to place me in an institution. I understand that he has been hurt greatly by the rejection of this lady who's attentions he was seeking but I do not think he has any right to take that out on me! I am sorry my dear, I am ranting.**

**How is Paris now? Have they started to rebuild? I am sure that with a little work the Opera House will be back to its old form. After all, the company has always been strong and, Phantom or no, we have never been closed down for long.**

**I will write again soon, I promise. And then we will try to find you time to visit. It may not be in the next few months but certainly soon. I do so miss you now dear. Please take care of yourself. And also do send any news of Christine. I know I should write her but do not have the address.**

**Mama**

**VVV**

Ann sealed the letter up with a sigh and laid it on the table. She truly did wish Meg could come and see her. But with Erik there, it was just not possible. He would no doubt up and leave the second he knew she was on her way. Stubborn, impossible and exasperating man!

…

Up in his attic, Erik was raging. He kicked one of the empty boxes that littered the unused corner of his room and then swore as he hurt his foot.

What was Ann thinking?! A girl in the house? A _blind_ girl? Foolishness! She would be all cheerful and smiles and trying to do things she couldn't. Idiocy. Ann Giry was a stupid woman. He wasn't going to put up with it and she would just have to deal with that or watch him leave. And he _would _leave.

He wasn't afraid of leaving, Erik told himself. It was just a matter of going out the door, walking down the road, finding a new life… It was easy to leave. Easy.

He sighed.

Who was he kidding? He couldn't leave. He _was_ afraid. Scared of the world. He knew that. That was why he hid. That was why he built up his own little kingdom in the Opera House where he had the ultimate power. And now he was away from that power and starting to feel vulnerable and yes, even _frightened_ again.

If someone knocked on Ann's door she would be impolite not to invite them in. And then he was at the mercy of her quick thinking. Granted, Ann was a quick thinker but that didn't mean her thoughts were always the best ones. Sometimes she did stupid things on the spur of the moment (like hire blind maids) and Erik was stuck with that. If he wanted to leave he had to face the world and his fears. Alone. Or he could stay and try to deal with whatever came his way. At least he had Ann, silly woman though she was.

Erik sat down on his bed and yanked off his boot to rub his sore toes.

"How do you get yourself into these messes Erik? Hmm? You're a fool, you know that? Trust her so easily. You should have left on your own. Shouldn't have let the stupid girl get herself involved again… What are you thinking?! She isn't a little girl anymore Erik. She's a grown woman and gets herself into these things perfectly well on her own. Now stop talking to yourself…"

He lay back on his bed and pondered this new development. A blind maid. What a ridiculous thought. And Ann was probably thinking this girl would help him, make him see that people could like him 'just for who he was'. Well, she had another thing coming. Seeing or not, Erik knew full well that he and the girl wouldn't be able to get along. His face wasn't the only hideous thing about him.


End file.
